


Lessons in Love

by Kydoimos



Category: The Walking Dead & Related Fandoms, The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Foster Family, Child Abuse, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-27
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:14:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 48,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27230302
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kydoimos/pseuds/Kydoimos
Summary: With only scant details about their newest foster placement, Rick and Michonne couldn’t possibly have known how their lives were about to change.A loud, angry teenager who insists they’re safe with their father.A ten-year-old boy, bruised and silent.When the walls have ears, it’s best to keep your secrets to yourself.(AKA, Rick and Michonne foster the Dixon boys.)
Relationships: Rick Grimes/Michonne
Comments: 139
Kudos: 116





	1. Revolving Doors

**Author's Note:**

> This story was one of those rare occasions where everything just seemed to fall into place as I wrote it. I started it a week ago, and I've now just got the epilogue to finish. Honestly, I'll be glad to finally get some sleep when it's done.  
> Reference to child abuse is a standing warning throughout, and I don't know balls about the US foster system so I'm basing it vaguely on that of my own country. Vaguely.  
> I hope it's aright, let me know what you think!

"Thank you so much, for everything." The woman's eyes sparkled with tears as she hugged her children close. The youngest, a five-year-old named Sam, looked up at Rick and gave a loud sniff. Ron, aged eleven, simply scowled as usual. They’d grown used to his difficult moods in the four months the boys had stayed with them, and Rick knew it was just a façade to try and bury his true emotions.

"You don't have to thank us," he said kindly. "It was you who did all the hard work." Michonne held out her arms to the boys. Jessie gave Sam a gentle push and he staggered forward, his sniffles evolving to sobs as Michonne rubbed his back in soft circles.

"Hey, it's alright." She soothed, her own eyes bright with emotion. "You're going back to be with mommy. That's good, right?" Sam nodded, his lower lip trembling. 

"We'll come visit sometime, baby." Jessie told him, stroking his wisps of light brown hair. "If that's okay?" She added, glancing between Rick and Michonne.

"Of course. Come anytime." He dropped to one knee, giving the kids his best smile. “You can tell me all about your new bedroom.”

“And our new dog.” Ron intercepted hopefully, looking up at his mother. “Y’know, the one you promised you’d get us?” Jessie laughed, winding an arm over his shoulders. 

“He’s a dreamer, this one.” She teased. They all hugged once more, and then the Anderson family were getting in the car and driving away. Rick heard a loud sniff behind him, and turned to find that Michonne had finally given in to tears.

“C’mere.” He pulled his wife close, wrapping his arms tight around her as she gave a choked sob. 

“I know they weren’t with us long, but they’re good boys and I really grew to love them.”

“Yeah, I know. Me too. I’m glad they’re going off to a better life, though.” Michonne smiled through her tears.

“So am I. I just hope Jessie can find the strength to stay away from that husband of hers.”

“She will. I’m sure of it.” Ron and Sam had come to them as an emergency placement after they’d witnessed their father beat their mother into a hospital bed. Pete Anderson had subsequently been arrested and charged, and was currently awaiting sentencing for his crimes. Rick hoped he’d go away for a long time. Social workers had assessed Jessie and found her parenting to be good, but it’d taken a lot of courage for her to finally leave her husband and go into a refuge once she was discharged from the hospital. Now, she finally had her own house, and the family could be together.

“I wonder how long it’ll be until our next placement.” Michonne pondered once they were seated at the breakfast bar with a hot drink each.

“Probably not long. I mean, we haven’t had a break of more than two weeks between any of ‘em.” It was true. Since they’d been approved as foster carers three years ago, their house had become something of a revolving door of neglected kids and respite placements.  
Rick had been uncertain at first, worried that this new vocation would leave him missing his time on the force. He’d had to take early retirement some years ago after a high-speed chase had ended in his being shot, and his first marriage had disintegrated soon after. Carl, the seven-year-old son he shared with Lori, was at his mother’s apartment for an overnight stay.

Michonne had changed Rick’s life, and only for the better. She’d come into it at his lowest point, and gifted him the highest. They’d married just a year after their first meeting, so sure of their love and commitment to one another, and started the process to become foster parents soon after. One of their placements, a baby girl called Judith whose mother had died giving birth to her, had made their little family feel so complete that they’d applied to adopt her. She’d come to them as a purple, squawking newborn, and was now a happy and healthy fourteen-month-old, currently down for her nap.

“Judith will miss the boys.” Michonne said, as though she’d been reading Rick’s thoughts. “I think she liked having a house full of men to boss around.” He laughed, squeezing Michonne’s hand. 

“That girl’s gonna go far. Hey, do you want me to help you give the boy’s bedroom a coat of paint before I go to pick up Carl?” It was something they usually did once a placement ended, to give the room a fresh look and help them move on after a child left for permanency. 

“That would be great. I think we have a tin of blue paint in the garage. Why don’t you go get it, and I’ll make us some lunch?”

* * *

“Hey, buddy. Having a good week?” Rick asked as his son got in the car. He gave an awkward, half wave to Lori standing at the doors to the apartment complex, and pulled away as soon as Carl had his seatbelt on.

“Yeah, I got a gold star on my spelling test!” 

“Good job! I think that deserves some ice cream, what do you think?”

“Yes! Although,” Carl looked slightly guilty. “Mom already let me have some yesterday.”

“We’d better not tell your mom then, huh? C’mon, let’s pick some up on the way home.” They spent the rest of the journey with Carl reliving the glory of his gold star, and Rick telling him all about Judith’s antics while he’d been away.

“Are Sam and Ron gone now?”

“Yeah, they’ve gone back to live with their mom.”

“Aw,” Carl’s voice was edged with disappointment. “I’m gonna miss them. ‘Specially Sam.”

“I know, bud. But it’s a good thing, really. It’s okay to be sad, but it’s more like happy-sad. We’ll miss them, but it’s real good news that they can go and be a family again.” During the fostering application process, Rick and Michonne had spent a lot of time trying to explain to Carl how their home would be open to other children who might come and go. It was a difficult concept for a child who’d grown up loved and nurtured, but Rick was confident that his son’s natural empathy could only be a benefit. It was good for their placements to live with a kid who was happy, and knew how to play. Amazingly, some kids would come to them without even the faintest idea of how to build a tower out of bricks. They’d found that the best way for children to learn to play was by watching another kid doing it naturally, and Carl was always very patient even with the trickier kids. 

“Will someone else come soon? Can it be another boy?” Rick laughed.

“We don’t get to choose, Carl. The social worker will phone us up and tell us about someone who needs help, and we’ll have to decide on whatever information they give us.”

“Okay. Well, I hope it’s another boy.”

* * *

When they arrived home, Carl skipped off happily to play with Judith in the backyard, and Rick stood and watched for a time. It seemed particularly poignant to see his two children so happy, when he knew how little others had.  
The phone startled him from his thoughts, and he hurried back through to the kitchen to answer it before it rang off.

“Hello?”

“ _Hi, is that Rick Grimes_?” 

“Speaking.”

“ _I’m Carol Peltier. I hope you don’t mind me ringing out of the blue; your SSW gave me your number_.” 

“Ah, Maggie? I haven’t heard from her in a while, is everything okay?” Maggie was their supervising social worker -SSW-, an invaluable role that involved supporting them through their fostering and giving advice when it was needed.

“ _She’s fine. She’d have called you herself, but she’s stuck in court all day._ ” There was a pause, and Rick thought he heard the sound of yelling in the background. “ _Sorry, give me just a moment._ ” There was the sound of a door opening and closing, and the shouting was muted. “ _Sorry about that_.”

“No problem. Is there something I can do for you?”

“ _Maggie told me that your previous placement moved on today, is that right?_ ” Rick curled the phone cord around his fingers.

“Yeah, that’s right. The boys went back to live with their mother this morning, so we have an empty bedroom right now. Although, I’m guessing maybe not for much longer?” Carol laughed.

“ _No, maybe not. And I hope you don’t mind having a houseful of boys, because we’ve just now removed two from their father’s care under a police protection order._ ”

“Go on,” Rick said, intrigued. “How old are they?”

“ _The eldest is Merle, fifteen. He’s-_ ” Rick could tell that Carol was thinking carefully of the right words to say. “ _A bit of a tricky character._ ” She finished.

“Tricky?”

“ _Always in trouble with the police, often suspended from school, loud and angry._ ”

“Ah, that kind of tricky.” Rick rubbed his hand through the stubble on his chin. He didn’t doubt he could handle an angry teenager, but he had Michonne and his kids to think about too. “Is he violent?”

“ _He gets into fights, but supposedly he’s not generally violent. All reports suggest that he’s really good with his little brother, Daryl._ ”

“And how old is Daryl?”

“ _Ten. To be honest, he’s the one that concerns me. He doesn’t talk._ ”

“What, ever?” 

“ _Well, I think he must talk to Merle sometimes, but he hasn’t said a word to me, the police, or the other social workers. It could well just be the trauma of the day._ ”

“Yeah, could be. So what’s led up to them being taken into care? You said the cops were involved?” It always made things so much worse to have to bring in the police when a child was removed from home, but it was unavoidable in some cases.

“ _I’m afraid I don’t have the full story yet. The file landed on my desk just before lunchtime, and I’ve been desperately trying to place these boys ever since. I wish I could give you time to think about it, but I really need an answer now so that I can get them a bed for the night._ ” So that meant she’d tried other carers before himself and Michonne, and those other carers had refused to take them. He felt a swell of pity for these two kids, lost and unwanted. Michonne padded in through the open backdoor, giving Rick a questioning look.

“Sorry, Carol. Would you give me a minute?”

“ _Of course._ ” Rick pressed the mute button, and turned to his wife. 

“Another placement?” 

“Yeah.” He told them the little he knew of Merle and Daryl, watching as she took it all in. 

"Hm. And what do you think?"

"I'm a bit worried about the older one, tell you the truth. Having someone like that around Carl, around Judith-" he looked through the window as his kids chased each other around, giggling madly.

"I know. But we can make sure they're never left alone, and Carl's only here half the time anyway. What's your gut telling you?" They looked at one another, both already knowing the answer.

"It's telling me that I want to give these kids a warm bed, even if it's just for the night."

"I think you'd better tell Carol that. Put her out of her misery."

* * *

They had time for a quick dinner and a bowl of chocolate chip ice cream each, and Michonne put Judith to bed while Carl helped Rick sort out the spare bedroom. There wasn't all that much to do, but it felt important to involve Carl.

"The eldest is a big boy," Rick told him as they made up the beds with fresh sheets. "His name's Merle, and he's fifteen."

"Merle? That's a funny name." His son giggled. 

"It's unusual, but maybe don't tell Merle that when he gets here."

"I know, dad. I'm eight." Carl said grandly, as though that meant he was all grown up now.

"You're seven," Rick laughed. "Did you forget?" 

"Okay, well I'm _nearly_ eight. Kinda. What about the other one, what's his name?"

"Daryl. He's ten, so you might like some of the same stuff. He might not feel very talkative at first, so we'll all have to be patient and help them both feel at home."

"I'll share all my toys with them, even my racetrack." Carl declared as he carefully lined up miniature soldiers on a shelf and placed a toy motorcycle at the end. 

"That's kind of you, Carl. Real kind." His son beamed up at him, and he felt a rush of pride.

"When are they getting here?"

"Well, they live a couple hours away, so they probably won't get here until after your bedtime. You'll get to meet them in the morning. Maybe you can show them your comic collection?" He suggested, hoping to avoid a debate over an extended bedtime. 

"Aw, alright."

* * *

The room was ready by the time the doorbell rang shortly after nine. 

"Carol?" Rick offered a hand to the woman standing on the doorstep. She had short grey hair and tired eyes, but her smile was warm and her handshake firm. 

"It's nice to meet you. Thank you so much for agreeing to take the boys. This is Merle," she pointed to a tall, broad-chested teenager with a surly expression and one arm draped over a young boy's shoulders. "And his little brother Daryl."

"Good to meet you both." Michonne said kindly, stepping aside to make room. "Why don't you come on in?" Rick caught the sneer Merle threw in her direction as he steered his brother through the door, and wondered if the kid was racist. It wasn't unusual, if their parents raised them that way. They'd found the best policy was to ignore any prejudiced language. If they rose to it, it gave the child or young person license to keep doing it to provoke a reaction.

"Go on through to the sitting room."

"You want us to take our shoes off?" Merle asked bluntly, already kicking off his peeling leather boots. It was a suggestion of manners Rick hadn't expected, catching him off guard.

"Uh, yeah, thanks. If that makes you more comfortable." Merle nudged his boots to one side with his foot, and let Daryl steady himself on his shoulder while he pulled off his own shoes. They looked far too big for him, and full of holes. Rick watched the small boy, taking in his disheveled appearance. There was a dark smudge on his cheek that could have been dirt or a bruise in the making. His lank hair stuck up in all directions. With a sinking heart, Rick thought he saw dried blood matted in Daryl's tangled locks. Merle's eyes were narrowed in Rick's direction, as though daring him to make a comment. His hand was curled protectively at the back of Daryl's neck, one thumb gently brushing the dark strands of hair. Rick looked at Michonne, and knew she was experiencing the same wave of pity as himself.

"Hi!" A voice chirped as Carl popped up behind them. "I'm Carl. Are you the people coming to stay with us? Daryl didn't respond, but Merle got down to his level and gave him a lopsided grin.

"I'm Merle. And this here's Daryl," he jabbed a thumb at his little brother's chest. "He ain't much of a talker, but I got enough words for both of us." Carl grinned back. Rick's worries about having a potentially volatile teenager in the same house as his own children were melting away by the second. Merle might be a bit rough around the edges, would probably be angry about being taken into care, but his kindness towards Carl was telling.

"That's good." He turned towards his dad. "Can I show them my comics now?" Rick rolled his eyes at Michonne, who was hiding her amusement behind a cupped hand. 

"Go on then. Not too many mind, you're supposed to be in bed." Carl skipped off happily, the brothers following. Rick noticed that Daryl shuffled rather than walked.  
Normally he would have insisted that Carl go straight back to bed, but it would be helpful to have someone distracting their new placement while they went over the essential information forms. They never talked about their foster kids in front of them, if it could be helped. 

"Coffee, Carol?" The social worker gave a heartfelt sigh.

"You have no idea how good that sounds right now."

"Been a rough day?" 

"That’s one way of putting it." She extracted a wad of papers from her briefcase and started leafing through them. "If I'm half as exhausted as Merle and Daryl, they must be dead on their feet."

"So what's their story?" Michonne asked, heaping a generous teaspoon of instant coffee in a mug for Carol. "Are they known to social services?"

"And then some. I'm fairly new to the office, but most of the old-timers have been involved with the family at one time or another." She gratefully accepted her coffee and took a sip. "Between the three of us, I don't really see why they weren't removed from their father years ago." Rick exchanged a look with Michonne. Sadly, it wasn't the first time they'd heard that.

"Uh huh. Go on." 

"They first came to our attention when Merle was young, because a teacher raised concerns about his low attendance at school. When he did go, he was always very grubby and unkempt. He never had lunch, and was caught trying to steal food from other kids on multiple occasions. There were injuries too, and the school felt something was off. I think he was six or seven at the time."

"And?" Michonne asked, wiping an imaginary stain from the countertop.

"And nothing. There was no action taken at that point. The family denied that anything was wrong, and Merle seemed happy enough, if a little scruffy." Carol paused to take another gulp of coffee, while Michonne arranged a pack of cookies on a plate and pushed it towards the social worker.

"Help yourself. You look like you could use a sugar hit."

"You two are angels, I swear it." Carol smiled as she took a biscuit. "I haven't eaten since breakfast. Oh, that reminds me- we stopped at a drive-thru on the way here, but only Merle wanted food. Daryl hasn't eaten anything, so he'll probably be hungry."

"No problem, we'll give him something before they go to bed." Rick took a cookie for himself and dunked it in his coffee.

"Great, thanks. Anyway, social workers were involved with the family on and off over the next few years, with mostly minor complaints. Reading between the lines, someone should probably have picked up on how bad things are a long time ago, but both kids seem to have been sworn into secrecy. Then over three years ago, the mother died in a house fire." Michonne gasped, raising a hand to her mouth. "I know. Awful, isn't it? Merle's grief came out as anger, and his behaviour deteriorated to the point he was permanently excluded from school. He even spent some time in a juvenile detention centre after he caused severe criminal damage to the gymnasium." 

"And Daryl?" 

"I spoke with his class teacher at home earlier, and he said Daryl withdrew a lot when his mom passed, understandably. The school tried to give him support, but it seems the more they pushed, the more the poor kid pulled away. Things at home probably got worse too, with just the boys and their father in the house." For a moment, Carol's delicate features held a faraway expression. "And then today, it seems everything came to a head. The neighbours, who apparently have had to deal with a _lot_ of noise from the family over the years, were concerned enough to call the police, and they got us involved."

"What happened?" Rick asked, not sure if he wanted to hear the answer.

"The details are still a little confused, but the gist of it seems to be that it was only Daryl and Will -the father- at home. Neighbours heard prolonged screaming and crying and called it in. The police arrived, but no one answered the door even though they could hear yelling coming from inside. In the end they broke it down, and found Will inside, waving a belt around and shouting at nothing. They think he was drunk or high, or maybe both." Rick nodded, unable to take his eyes from Carol. "Daryl was curled up in a corner, shaking. He had a bloody nose and apparently fought like a devil when they tried to carry him out to the squad car, wouldn't let anyone touch him."

"That poor boy," Michonne spoke with a tremor. "He must have been terrified. How did they get him out?"

"They didn't. Merle arrived home in the middle of all the chaos and demanded that the officers let him have a moment alone with Daryl, and after two minutes they walked out together. That's when I arrived." Carol glanced at the stairs, and leaned in closer. "Honesty, if you two hadn't agreed to take them I probably would've had to split them up, and I think that would be awful for everyone involved." 

"Yeah, I think you're right." Rick agreed. "Good thing they're here, then. Did either of them have any injuries, other than Daryl's nose?" 

"Probably," Carol sighed. "I took them to the county hospital for a check-up, but neither would let the doctor examine them. Merle was getting angrier by the minute, and Daryl looked so afraid that I decided it would be best to call it a day and try again another time. I'll arrange for them to have a medical in the next couple of days, if you wouldn't mind taking them."

"Of course. What about school? It's too far for them to keep going where they're at, so should we enrol them the one in our neighbourhood? Daryl can go to the same elementary as Carl." 

"That would be great, thanks. At least he'll have a friendly face there. Let's see, what else…" Carol tapped her pen on the counter. "No known allergies or medical problems, although Merle did say he was allergic to curfew." They laughed.

"Learning difficulties?" Michonne asked, probably thinking of Daryl's silence and aversion to eye contact. Carol shook her head.

"Nothing diagnosed, but you probably know as well I do that it doesn't mean much, especially for a low-income household. Keep an eye on them, and we'll have them assessed if they need to be." Rick nodded, taking it all in. Sometimes fostering reminded him of being a sheriff's deputy, with all the terrible things they bore witness to. They all looked up as they heard several pairs of feet on the stairs. 

"They liked my comics, dad!" 

"Good. Thanks for showing them, but I think it's time you got to sleep, or you'll be exhausted tomorrow." Carl groaned and yawned simultaneously. Rick stood, scooping his son into his arms in one fluid motion. "C'mon, I'll tuck you in."

When he came back downstairs, Daryl was seated at the breakfast bar, a plate of toast cut in neat squares and a glass of milk set before him. He hadn't taken so much as a bite.

"How long we gonna be here, lady?" Merle barked at Carol, who continued to smile calmly back at him.

"Like I said in the car, I don't know yet. I need to talk to your father and make sure it's safe for you to go home."

"Safe?" Merle scoffed. "Safe from what? The monsters under the bed? Our old man just gets het up sometimes, but me and Daryl are fine. You're alright, aintcha little brother?" He slapped Daryl on the back a little harder than was necessary. Rick winced, but if it hurt the ten-year-old he didn't show it.

"I just need to be sure, Merle." Carol replied gently. "You and your brother are important, and we have to make sure that you're being taken care of." 

" _I_ take care of us," Merle growled, the colour darkening in his cheeks as his temper grew. "Always have done."

"You're a good brother to look after Daryl so well," Michonne interjected. "But who's looking after you?" Merle stopped in his tracks, looking somewhat bemused.

"You gonna show me where I can take a shit, or what?" He muttered eventually.

"Why don't I show you and Carol the bathroom and your bedroom? Daryl can join us when he's eaten his toast." Michonne told him, with a glance at Rick. He gave a small nod to show he'd understood. They couldn't leave the kitchen until Daryl had eaten something. 

"Did you want something else on there? Jelly, or peanut butter? Or both?" Daryl shook his head, looking apprehensive at being suddenly left alone with this strange man. "I tell you what, tomorrow me and Michonne'll take you shopping. You can choose a few of your favourite things to eat." By the way his brow rose, Rick could tell this wasn't something Daryl was used to hearing. "You must be hungry," he continued, unphased by the one-sided conversation. "Carol says you haven't had anything all day. You know, I never get toast right. Stupid, ain't it? It always comes out either pale as cauliflower or burnt to a crisp. But Michonne-" he pressed the pads of his thumb and forefinger together, and pecked the tips in an exaggerated chef's kiss. "She gets it right every time. Golden brown, just the right temperature so the butter melts right in- perfect." It might have been his imagination, but Rick thought he saw the flicker of a smile. "I do make a mean mac'n'cheese though." He leaned closer, beckoning to Daryl in a conspiratorial manner. "My secret is to add two cups of grated cheese, and then just throw the whole packet in. Don't tell anyone my secret though, will you?" It was hard to tell if Daryl was amused or exasperated, but Rick persevered. “Maybe I can make it for dinner someday this week. Would you like that?” No response. “Who am I kidding? Everyone loves macaroni!” He continued to ramble on for several minutes while the toast grew cold.

“What’s the hold up?” Merle stomped back into the kitchen, apparently having deigned to leave his backpack upstairs in their bedroom. He looked between Daryl and the toast. “You still haven’t eaten that? What the hell you waitin’ for, a gold napkin? Eat the damn toast or I’ll shove it down your gullet. You don’t wanna grow up to be a weak lil’ pussy, do you?” It was a crude technique, but it did the trick. Daryl ate.

* * *

Once they’d said goodbye to Carol, both Rick and Michonne were eager to get the boys washed and to bed. It was coming up to eleven now, and the day had been long and emotional. 

“Bed?” Merle repeated incredulously, Daryl standing silently at his elbow. “It’s still early!”

“It’s been a long day for both of you. Look at Daryl, he's exhausted.” Rick cajoled, hoping to appeal to Merle’s protectiveness over his brother. The teenager spared a glance behind him, and rolled his eyes resignedly. 

“Fine. Since the kid’s so tired and all. Guess I’d better stay with him.” Rick led them upstairs, halting outside the bathroom. 

“We left out a towel and a toothbrush for each of you. Daryl, do you want to take a shower first?” The boy stared at his feet, half hidden behind Merle’s stocky frame. Rick leaned down to be closer to his level. “Do you need any help?”

“What, you a damn pervert or somethin’? He don’t need help. He’s clean enough.” Merle’s voice was a challenge, and Rick was careful to keep his own tone neutral. In other circumstances he might have waited until the following day before engaging in a battle over bathing, but he couldn’t stand the thought of sending Daryl to bed with hair stiff with mud or blood or whatever it was. 

“In this house, we have a shower or bath every day.”

“Good for you, but this ain’t our house.”

“It is for now.” He turned quickly back to Daryl, trying to avoid being drawn into an argument. “So, why don’t you come with me and pick out a pair of pyjamas from our spares? We can get you your own clothes tomorrow, but I promise you’ll be comfy tonight. C’mon, that’s it.” He resisted the urge to reach out for Daryl’s hand as he followed stiffly in his wake, certain it would make him feel uncomfortable.

* * *

Almost midnight. Rick and Michonne finally collapsed into bed, curling up in one another’s embrace. 

“What a day,” she sighed, running her fingertips over his chest. “I hope they sleep okay.”

“Not sure I will.” No matter how exhausted he was, it was always hard sleeping in the first few days after the arrival of a new placement. The unfamiliar sounds, coupled with being on the alert in case the child needed you made for fitful slumber. Add to that the puzzle of the boys' homelife, and it was enough to keep him up all night.

“I know what you mean. Hate to think what those poor kids have been through. Hopefully they’ll be able to open up, eventually.”

“I hope so. For now though, I think we need to focus on Merle’s temper and Daryl’s mutism. The rest will come with time, if they end up staying with us.” Michonne snuggled closer, and Rick caught the comforting scent of her jasmine soap. 

“If they stay in the care system, they stay with us. Agreed?” He smiled at her words, and kissed her on the forehead. 

“Agreed. Who am I to argue?”

“Who indeed, Rick. Who indeed.”


	2. Homebound

Rick must have fallen asleep at some point, because he definitely woke up. It was still early, pale morning light creeping in through a gap in the curtains. Hearing a babble on the baby monitor, he decided to get up and take Judith downstairs, not wanting her to start crying and wake the whole house. 

"Hey, baby girl." His daughter's eyes were big and bright as a doe's. She was standing up in her crib, gripping the bars with pudgy fists, golden brown hair sticking up like the wisps of a dandelion. She raised her arms to Rick when she saw him, and toppled backwards onto her padded backside. Judith felt this hilarious, and gave a throaty chuckle.

"Da," she babbled happily. "Da, da, da."

"That's right, clever girl. I'm your daddy. You grew in mine and mommy's hearts, didn't you?" When she was older, he and Michonne had planned on being open about Judith's adoption, in the hopes that she would always see it as a positive thing.

"Da." Judith agreed.

Rick gently pushed open the door to Merle and Daryl's room as he passed, wanting to check on them. His heart lurched. Both beds were unmade, but empty. He gave the room a cursory glance, then hurried downstairs. Had they run away in the night? 

His legs felt shaky with relief as he rushed into the kitchen and his eyes fell on the boys. Merle was busy opening and shutting cupboards, Daryl standing hardly a hair's breadth away. 

"You two okay?" Merle turned, and Daryl started.

"Where's your sugar?" The teenager demanded. Rick crossed the room, and pulled open the only cupboard Merle had missed. 

"Here you go. What are you making?" He looked down at the bowl of steaming milk on the counter, in which there appeared to be a handful of chunks of bread torn straight from the loaf. Rick watched as Merle sprinkled sugar over the concoction.

"Just somethin' we used to have sometimes. Go sit down, kid. You're creepin' me out, stood right behind me like that." He made a shooing motion at Daryl, and then seemed to notice Judith's presence for the first time. "Well hey there, little miss." He said jovially, doffing an imaginary hat. "Ain't you a beauty?" He clasped her tiny hand in his and gave it a gentle shake. Judith's giggling was infectious, and soon both Merle and Rick had joined in. Daryl remained as silent as ever, although there did seem to be the tiniest trace of a smile as he watched Judith crease up with laughter. It was reassuring to see.

"Merle, Daryl- meet Judith. She's my daughter." Merle gave him an appraising look.

"She don't look like you." He said bluntly. Rick laughed again.

"No, I suppose not. She's our adopted daughter."

"Why? Shootin' blanks down there?" Rick raised his eyebrows, but didn't rise to the bait.

"Nope. We just loved her so much that we had to make her a part of our family." Merle turned away, picking up the bread-milk-sugar mixture and thrusting it at Daryl.

"There ya go, baby brother. You better eat all that, or I'll-"

"Merle," Rick interrupted hurriedly. "Maybe we could temper the threats? Especially in front of small, wiggling ears." 

"Yeah, alright. I'm just sayin', Chez Merle don't do send-backs."

* * *

"See anything you like, Daryl?" Michonne asked as she pushed a trolley laden with underwear, pyjamas and Judith. Merle and Carl were playing a slightly frenzied game of I-Spy as they wove between the racks of clothing, yelling out guesses with increasing volume each time. Rick looked back at Daryl, scuffing along behind them with his head bent. 

"Socks?"

"Nope!"

"Stripy sweater?"

"Nuh-uh."

"Here, how about this?" Rick pulled a blue and black checked shirt from a rail, holding it out for Daryl to check the fit. The boy flinched as his hand drew close, and he pulled back at once. That had been stupid. "I'm sorry, bud. I didn't mean to startle you."

"Sandals?"

"Nah!"

"Rick's right, that shirt would suit you." Michonne plucked a pair of black jeans from a nearby stand, fashionably adorned with ripped knees and fraying hems. "What do you think?" Daryl's eyes glanced upward, and quickly down again. He gave a tiny nod, shifting uncomfortably under their scrutiny.

"Maybe we should just choose for him this time." Rick muttered to Michonne as Daryl sloped off after his brother. "We can always come back when he's more settled." 

"Slippers?"

"Jeez, finally. I thought we'd be here all day!"

They had no more luck trying to get Daryl to choose food he liked, although Merle was happy enough to choose for both of them. Rick hoped the younger boy would start to make his own choices soon, but it had only been a day. Small steps would be the way forward.

* * *

"Wow, you both look so handsome." Carol beamed as she walked into the sitting room. Merle looked up with a wink, dressed in a t-shirt and jeans. Daryl didn't react, but it was true that he already looked healthier in his new clothes. The shower the previous evening had done wonders too, but Rick knew it might take several washes to completely eradicate the years of ingrained dirt clinging to both boys' skin.

"Don’t they?" Michonne agreed, setting a tray of drinks on the coffee table. "They're all ready to start school once we enrol them." Merle's lips twisted in a sneer, and it looked momentarily as though he were about to explode. His eyes swept over his little brother sitting inertly in a corner, and then over Carl and Judith as they looked through books together. Rick gave a sigh of relief when the teenager's voice was mild."

"Hell, if I'd known we'd get all this free stuff, I'd have come years ago."  
  
  
"We're trying to introduce the house rules," Michonne told Carol once all the kids had gone upstairs and Judith was napping. "But I think it might be a little while before we can shake the bad language." 

"Just do your best," the social worker replied kindly. "A lifetime of using a certain vocabulary isn't going to just disappear overnight. How's his behaviour been in general?"

"Pretty good actually." Rick glanced at Michonne. "I know it's probably just the honeymoon phase, but I kind of expected difficult behaviour from the start with Merle. There's been a few minor outbursts about doing as we ask, but he usually calms down when we explain how it would benefit Daryl. It's obviously something he cares about." He glanced sideways at Carol with a small smile. "I'm afraid I've been taking advantage of that a little bit." She laughed, eyes crinkling. 

"Hey, I won't judge. It's a win from where I'm standing. Speaking of Daryl, how has he been?" 

"You saw him." Michonne sighed. "He does as he's asked, but he hasn't said a word in front of us and he's obviously completely withdrawn."

"I think he's injured, too." Rick supplied. "The way he shuffles along. I 'spose it could just be the way he walks, but it looks to me as though he's been hurt. Any news on that medical?"

"Yeah, actually. I've made appointments for the boys for tomorrow morning- hope that's okay."

"Not a problem. We'll sort school out too, and hopefully they can start in the next few days." Carol made a note in her diary.

"Great, thanks. So, I had the pleasure of properly meeting their father this morning," she said with a slow eye roll. "The minute he was released from police custody, he turned up at my office and demanded to have his children back."

"Oh? Was everything okay?" Like foster carers, social workers had to develop a thick skin as part of their job. 

"I tried to explain to him what would happen, but he wasn't interested in listening, just in yelling the place down. In the end security had to remove him from the property. I'll try calling him in a day or two, see if he's any calmer."

"Will there be contact?" Rick was well aware of how exhausting the round-trip would be for the kids.

"Hard to say at this point. Any contact would need to be supervised, since we know so little of what's been going on at home. It might depend on Will's willingness to cooperate with us. If I can, I'll try to keep it to once a week, maybe on a Saturday. Then the boys will have Sunday to relax and spend time with you. Do you think they actually want to see their father?" 

"I'm not really sure." Michonne answered. "Merle hasn't said a lot about him, but most kids tend to want to see their parents, even if they're abusive."

"I know," Carol said, a little sadly. "No matter how bad they are, it's hard not to love your mom and dad." 

* * *

Daryl watched Carl setting up a racetrack on his bedroom floor.

"Look, it even has trees and a gas station!"

"Yeah, that's cool little man." Merle said distractedly. He leaned in closer to Daryl, hot breath tickling the back of his neck.

"Remember, we gotta stick together. We can't give 'em shit," he whispered. "The walls have ears. And Dixons don't rat each other out." Daryl nodded numbly, wondering why Merle was telling him this when he hadn’t even spoken to his elder brother for two days. Carl started pushing a few toy cars around the track, making engine noises. Merle gave Daryl a poke in the ribs as a final reminder, then chose a car for himself. Well, not so much a car as a monster truck. He pretended to drive right over the hot wheels, and Carl giggled.

"You want to try, Daryl?" He offered, holding out a tiny cop car. Daryl stared at it for a moment, then rose slowly to his feet. Carl looked crestfallen, but his face broke into a smile as Daryl returned, clutching the model motorcycle from the shelf in his room.

"Good idea, baby brother." Merle turned to Carl. "Daryl loves bikes. We both do. We're gonna get a Harley when I'm old enough."

"Where will you go?" Carl asked, flopping down on his belly as he pretended to fill up his cars at the gas station.

"Anywhere. Far away as possible."

"Australia?"

"Huh?"

"That’s on the opposite side of the world. You couldn't go any further, unless you go to space." Merle lifted his car from the track in an imitation of zero-gravity.

"Maybe, if they ever invent a rocket Davidson." 

* * *

Sunday slipped quickly into Monday, bringing with it the usual chaos of the morning routine. Carl couldn't find his math book, Judith was teething, and they all had to be out to the door in twenty minutes if they were going to make the school run and get to the clinic on time.

"I'll walk Carl to school and take Judith for some fresh air, you take the car." Michonne told him as she packed Carl's lunch. "Merle, Daryl!" She called in the direction of the stairs. "Have you brushed your teeth?"

"Yeah!" Came the unconvincing reply. 

"I'll go check on 'em." Rick pecked Michonne on the cheek and headed out to the hallway, passing Carl en route. "Got your book?"

"Yeah, it was in my sock drawer."

"What was it- you know what?" Rick ruffled his son’s hair. "Never mind." He continued upstairs, and found Merle whispering in Daryl's ear. Something about the scene made Rick uncomfortable, and he cleared his throat to make them aware of his presence. Daryl jumped away from Merle, who was giving his best and most innocent expression. "Everything okay up here?"

"Why wouldn't it be?" Rick watched Merle closely, an eyebrow arched.

"Alright. Well, Michonne is gonna take Carl to school and get you two registered, while the three of us head to your appointment."

"No need. We're fit as fleas, ain't we?" Merle nudged Daryl, who gave a small nod.

"It's not up for discussion. If you're healthy, that's great. But the local authority has a duty to make sure." The teenager gave a loud snort.

"I'm not gonna let some kiddie-fiddlin' doctor feel me 'nd my brother up." 

"Daryl, why don't you go downstairs and put on your new shoes?" The younger boy looked uncertainly at his brother, who gave a jerk of the head. Rick waited for him to start down the stairs before he spoke again.

"Please, Merle," he said softly, moving a little closer. "You know Daryl won't go in if you don't, and I think someone needs to take a look at him. He's hurt."

"That's just from scrappin’ with his buddies.” Merle said dismissively, although Rick thought he’d seen a flicker of doubt cross the teenager’s face. “Why you people always gotta make a big deal out of nothin’?” He stomped past Rick, and joined his brother downstairs.  
  
“I tell ya, we ain’t goin’ in!” Merle yelled, attracting the attention of just about everyone in the parking lot. Sometimes, Rick wished he had a shirt that read ‘I AM A FOSTER CARER’ in giant letters. He tried to ignore the disapproving stares as Merle ranted, keeping a neutral expression with hands on his hips.

“There’s nothing to worry about, Merle. They just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“And I keep tellin’ ya, we’re fine! C’mon, Daryl. We’re gettin’ outta here.” He made a grab for his brother, but Rick stepped between them.

“I can’t let you take Daryl.”

“I’m his fuckin' brother,” Merle growled, moving so close that their noses were almost touching. “What are you gonna do?”

“I have responsibility for him now,” Rick explained calmly. “Until Carol says it’s okay, the two of you can’t be out on your own.”

“Why the hell not? What, you think I’m gonna hurt him or somethin’?” Merle almost looked offended.

“No, of course not. It’s just the way things are run in this area. I have to follow the rules, same as you.” The teenager was breathing so heavily that Rick could see the rapid rise and fall of his chest. 

“Fine,” he hissed. “Fine.” Before Rick could even think of stopping him, Merle turned on the spot and started running. For a moment, he considered following, but a movement behind him reminded Rick that Daryl probably couldn’t keep up.

“I’m sorry about that, buddy.” He told the ten-year-old, pulling his cell from his pocket. “I just need to make a couple of calls, and then we’ll go in.” Daryl looked totally lost without his brother, scuffling his feet with his hands in his pockets.   
Rick phoned Michonne first, and then Carol. This was not a good start to the day, and he was kicking himself for not handling the situation better. “C’mon, then.” He said to his remaining charge, and walked towards the clinic in the hopes that Daryl would simply follow him. He was relieved to see the boy a few paces behind him in the reflection of the windows, unsure what he would do if Daryl refused to go in. He couldn’t manhandle a child who didn’t want to move, especially not one with this kid’s history. Rick signed them in, and they sat down in a noisy, crowded waiting area. Daryl’s shoulders were tensed almost to his ears, skin ragged where he bit at his thumb. “You alright?” Rick asked quietly, bottling the urge to reach out. As expected, no answer came. 

“Daryl Dixon?” A nurse called out. Daryl’s head jerked upwards, and for a moment he stared straight at Rick, abject fear in his eyes.

“It’s gonna be okay.” He stood, offering Daryl a hand. It was ignored, and Rick watched him struggle to his feet. They followed the nurse to an examination room, with a bed and curtains in one corner and a smiling doctor in the other. Daryl froze in the doorway. The medic rose to his feet.

“Daryl? My name’s Siddiq, I’m a doctor here. Don’t look so worried, I promise I won’t bite. Why don’t you sit in front of my desk for now? I just want to ask a few questions to begin with.” The prospect of this didn’t seem to reassure Daryl, but he did as he was asked.

“Rick Grimes,” Rick shook the doctor’s hand. “Daryl’s foster carer. I’m afraid Merle didn’t feel up to coming in.”

“Never mind, I can see him another time. Why don’t we focus on you today, young man?” Siddiq sat behind his desk and flipped open a notebook. 

“I’m not sure if his social worker mentioned this, but Daryl’s currently finding it a little hard to talk.” Rick said quietly, taking the chair beside Daryl’s. 

“Okay, that’s fine. How long has he been with you?”

“Only since Saturday evening.” 

“Hm, okay. So I’ll ask a few questions, and you can just nod or shake your head, okay?” Daryl gave a tiny nod. “Alright, good. Do you feel fit and healthy?” Nod. “Do you have any aches or pains, or anything you’re worried about?” Shake. “That’s great. And do you know if you’ve had all your vaccinations?” Daryl shrugged, staring at his feet. “No problem, I’ll see if I can get your medical records sent over. Do you remember who your last doctor was, or when you might have last had a check-up?” Shake. “Can you see and hear okay?” Nod. “Alright.” Siddiq glanced up at Rick. It was clearly hard for him to get an accurate medical history with just yes and no questions. “I think maybe I’d better take a look at you now. Shall we start with your height and weight?” Shrug. Daryl looked at Rick again, almost pleadingly. 

“It’s okay, it won’t hurt.” Rick told him, feeling achingly sad for the boy. Daryl followed Siddiq to a pair of scales, cringing away from him whenever he got too close. The doctor took the measurements, and made a note. 

“Good job. Now, can I listen to your heart and lungs?” He held up his stethoscope, demonstrating. “I just need you to lift your shirt for me.” Daryl was already backing away, shaking his head frantically, arms wrapped tightly around himself. 

“Do you want me to go, kiddo?” Rick asked, aware that his presence might be adding to Daryl’s upset. The ten-year-old gave another shake, so Rick stayed. 

“It’s okay. If you come just a little closer, I’ll put the stethoscope down the front of your shirt. Would that be better?” There was no answer, but Daryl shuffled an inch or two closer. Siddiq breathed on the diaphragm to warm it, and gently slid it under his sweater. His face creased as he listened, moving from side to side and then again on Daryl’s back. “Does your chest hurt, Daryl?” Shake. “Any shortness of breath? No? Okay, that’s fine.” Siddiq pulled Rick to one side as Daryl slid back to his chair, concern in his dark eyes. 

“What’s wrong? Is he okay?”

“Mr. Grimes, I really need to examine him properly.”

“It’s Rick. And why? What is it?”

“I might be wrong, but I thought I heard a small pneumothorax on the right lung.” Rick felt his heart drop into his stomach.

“Pneumothorax? Isn’t that a collapsed lung?”

“It’s a build-up of air in the pleural cavity, which can cause the lung or part of it to collapse, yes. If it is a pneumothorax and it's a small one, they often don’t need treatment, but I still need to take a look at him and do an x-ray. They’re usually caused by chest trauma, so he might have a broken rib.” Rick winced, watching Daryl sit hunched in his chair. No wonder the poor kid shuffled everywhere.

“Alright, I’ll try to talk to him.” He knelt on the floor beside Daryl, seeking eye-contact. “Listen, buddy. Dr. Siddiq really needs to get a proper look at you. You don’t have to say anything or explain to us, we just need you to take your shirt off for a minute. Then they’ll take special pictures of you so they can see your insides. Cool, huh?” It was a lame attempt, and Daryl was having none of it. “The sooner you do this, the sooner we can get out of here. Carl told me you liked the motorcycle he left in your room, so how about we head out afterwards and find you another one? You can start a collection.” It was edging on bribery, but Rick couldn’t think of anything else to do. “C’mon, darlin’. Let’s just get this over with.” 

* * *

Daryl pushed ahead as they left the clinic, thunder etched on his usually blank features. It was hard to tell if he was mad at the doctor, Rick, or himself. He stood at the car with his back turned, arms folded tightly over his chest. 

"You did good, bud." Rick told him as he opened the door for him to get in. "Here, you hold this." He passed Daryl the painkillers, but the kid only threw them crossly to the footwell. In a way, Rick was relieved to see the anger. Outbursts seemed easier to deal with than total silence. "You want to track down that motorcycle now?" Daryl shook his head, his face turned away. "No? You sure?" Rick thought he knew what the problem was. Daryl wanted to get back to the house because he wanted to know if Merle was there.

They found Michonne back home, but no Merle. Daryl's features shifted from anger to worry in an instant, and Rick felt his own anxiety rising.

"I walked all around looking for him, but there was no sign. Judith was getting restless so we had to come home. I called Carol again, and she said she'd inform the police." Michonne told him quietly. "Now you're home, I'll head back out in the car and keep looking."

"You sure?"

"Yeah." She watched Daryl line his shoes up beside theirs. "You stay here and spend some time with him."

Rick had expected Daryl to slink off to the opposite end of the house, so he was surprised to find the young boy didn't leave his side for the rest of the morning. Rick made the most of it, deciding to read him a few chapters of a book he'd picked up recently, called _The Cry of the Icemark_. It was about a teenage girl who became queen of the Icemark after her dad was killed in battle, and had to defend her tiny country against the invading army responsible for her father's death. Along the way, she found allies in the shape of werewolves, sarcastic vampires and fearsome giant snow leopards. He hoped to read it to Carl when he was a little older, thinking he'd enjoy it. It was a good excuse to sit close to Daryl on the sofa, watching his expression shift minutely as they flicked through the book together. Rick couldn't assume that either he or Merle could read; although he was fairly certain that Daryl’s eyes were following the words as he spoke them. He seemed particularly taken at Princess Thirrin's first encounter with a werewolf, and even relaxed closer towards Rick. Every so often though, he would realise what he was doing and push away again.

After an hour had passed with no word from Michonne, Rick's worries began to escalate. He couldn't let Daryl see this, so he set up the chessboard that had once been his grandfather’s, passing each piece to the ten-year-old and showing him where they went. 

"This is a Knight," he explained, holding up the figure. "They can jump over other pieces diagonally, like this." He demonstrated, then passed the horse to Daryl to place on the board. The phone rang, and they both looked up. "You keep setting up while I get that." Rick headed into the kitchen to take the call, not wanting to be overheard.

" _Rick, it's me._ "

"Have you found him?"

" _I haven't, but the police have. They just rang me on my cell_."

"The police? What happened?"

" _They found him trying to hitch a lift on the side of the road._ "

"What?"

" _Yeah. They're bringing him home now, just thought I'd give you a heads up. Thank god they found him quickly._ "

"Was he trying to get home?"

" _Looks like it._ " Rick heard Michonne sigh at the exact moment as himself. They said goodbye, and he padded back to the lounge to let Daryl know. He looked up expectantly, a rook in his hand.

"Everything's okay, buddy. The police have found Merle, and they're bringing him home now." Daryl’s face split into the first proper smile Rick had seen him make, and the sight lifted his heart. "I know, I'm happy too." A puzzled expression came over the kid, and the look he gave Rick was questioning. "Well we don't know for sure yet, but apparently Merle was trying to get back to your dad's house." He wished he hadn't spoken the words the moment they left his lips. Daryl’s features crumpled. He lashed out an arm, swept the chessmen from the board and staggered from the room. ' _You idiot._ ' Rick admonished himself. Why the hell had he told Daryl that his brother had tried to go back home without him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My plan is to upload every Tuesday and Friday, but it will depend on my work schedule. Thanks for reading!


	3. All the Devils Are Here

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on a long day tomorrow, so this chapter's early. Thanks for reading :)  
> (Also, if you're waiting on the epilogue for my other story, I promise it's still in progress! I've got a long week and working this weekend but I'll do my best to publish by Monday end next week.)

"So, how was the medical?" Michonne asked when all the kids were in bed. Rick blew out a lungful of air.

"Not good. Awful, actually." They'd had an unsettled evening, with Merle furious about being brought back by the police and Daryl wearing an expressionless mask. Rick told Michonne about the pneumothorax. "I've emailed Carol, but she hasn't gotten back to me yet. And the bruises, Michonne," he hadn't been able to put the image from his mind all day. "The scars. Someone's been beating that kid for a long time. Merle said it's just from fighting with friends, but no child could do that kind of damage."

"Stands to reason that if Daryl's been abused, Merle has been too. Kids living in that kind of environment for so long get good at explaining away all sorts."

"Yep. Well, I expect the cops will want their own doctor to examine him too, so we'll have to go through it all again." Rick sighed, brushing back a lock of Michonne's hair. 

"But he'll be okay?"

"The doctor thought so, with monitoring. He said to take him straight to the emergency room if he starts having chest pain or gets breathless."

"What kind of monster would do that to a little boy?" She asked, shaking her head.

"I know. What is it they say about hell being empty?" Michonne gave a mirthless laugh.

"All the devils are here."

* * *

Wednesday morning was bright with the promise of spring. Rick watched Michonne through the kitchen window as she walked Judith round the garden, pointing to colourful flowers and trilling birds. Inside the house, the atmosphere was tense. After they dropped Carl at school, the plan was to take Merle and Daryl for a tour to meet their teachers and classes. Merle was going to the high school across the road from the elementary, so they planned to divide and conquer. Rick was apprehensive about separating the boys, but there was little choice to be had in the matter. At least Merle had his natural confidence, and Daryl would have a friendly face in Carl.

"C'mon, kids!" He shouted in the general direction of the ruckus coming from upstairs. "Breakfast is on the table in five minutes!" He smiled as Daryl appeared at the top of the stairs. "Don't worry, it's not toast so you're safe." He winked. The ten-year-old managed a tiny smile that didn't reach his eyes. He'd poured himself a small bowl of cereal and was adding milk by the time Merle and Carl entered the room. Merle looked across at his brother, but didn't make his usual effort to ruffle his hair or touch his shoulder. 

"You should eat more'n that, little brother." Daryl’s brow furrowed in annoyance. "Don't give me that stink-eye," Merle growled. "I'm just lookin' out." 

"It's okay, Merle." Rick put a hand on the teenager's shoulder. "There will always be food for you in this house, so Daryl can have a snack later if he gets hungry." It was something that would be obvious to most kids, but children who have grown up hungry tended to come with deeply ingrained issues surrounding food. Binge-eating, undereating, hoarding in their bedrooms; Rick had seen it all even with so limited experience under his fostering belt. Merle grunted, shrugging the hand off and taking his place at the table. 

"You're coming to my school," Carl told Daryl excitedly. "And my teacher said we can sit together at lunch if you want." 

"That's a good idea. What do you think?" He asked Daryl, who had raised his eyes from his cereal to stare at Carl. His nod was barely noticeable, but Rick could tell he was pleased. 

They drove to school, in the hopes it would reduce the risk of Merle running off again, and went their separate ways in the parking lot. Rick had planned on being the one to take him into Grady High, but Michonne shouted him down. 

"I don't care if he calls me racist slurs, if that's what you're worried about." She whispered, shifting Judith in her arms. "We'll have Judith with us- and besides, the more time he spends with me, the more he'll come to realise that I'm a person just the same as him." Rick watched Merle spit on the asphalt, and gave his wife a wry smile. "Okay, maybe not _just_ the same. You know what I mean. Daryl is starting to build a relationship with you, I can tell. It's better this way, trust me."

The screams and laughter of children at play rose in waves around them, and they all had to be mindful of stray soccer balls flying past their heads. Carl waved to a group of second-graders, several of whom shouted greetings or beckoned him over. He looked uncertainly between his father and Daryl. 

"Go on," Rick clapped him on the shoulder. "Go play with your friends."

"Okay. Bye dad, bye Daryl!"

"Have a good day!" Rick called to his son’s retreating back. He looked down at Daryl, standing close enough to touch. His clothes were clean and smelled fresh, his hair washed and falling loosely around his face, but there was still an indefinable air of neglect surrounding him. The bruise on his cheek was slowly darkening, and several kids stared as they ran past. Rick hoped Daryl wouldn't get a reputation at the school before he even started there. "It's gonna be okay. It's alright to be worried about a new school, but I promise things will turn out fine." 

* * *

Rick knew the headteacher to be a kindly older man, having sent other children to the elementary. He greeted them warmly, and personally gave them a tour of the school, pointing out the sports fields, the colourful art block and the library and telling Daryl about some of the after-school activities they ran. He didn't seem at all phased by his newest pupil's silence, but kept up a steady stream of chatter. 

"And here we have your new classroom," he said jovially, pointing through the window in the door. "Your teacher's name is Miss. Williams, and she's really looking forward to meeting you." Right on cue, a young woman stepped out of the classroom.

"You must be Daryl. I hear you're starting with us next week. I'm Sasha Williams." She added to Rick, extending a hand for him to shake. Daryl didn't look up, and a dull colour crept up his neck. He looked overwhelmed by it all, and Rick wished he could scoop the boy up and sooth the worries away. "Why don't we go find you a place to sit while Mr. Monroe and your foster carer have a talk?" She held out a hand to him. Daryl stared at it, then up at Rick almost pleadingly.

"Go ahead, sweetheart. I'll be right down the hall, and I'll come and get you when we're done." It felt important to stress that Daryl wasn't just being abandoned at school. With a small sigh, he sloped past Sasha's outstretched hand and into the classroom. She grinned, obviously unphased.

"Well, that's me told."

"So I spoke with Daryl's social worker yesterday, and his former school faxed his records over this morning. I made a copy for you and Michonne to read in your own time, but I thought it would be a good idea if we talked about a couple of things." 

"That's real thoughtful, thanks." Rick said gratefully, taking the papers bound with a clip. "We don't really know much about Daryl and his brother's life before coming to us, so this could be helpful." Monroe sighed.

"Possibly not as helpful as you might hope. Has Daryl spoken at all since his arrival?" 

"Not that I know of, but it's only been a few days." The principal removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose between forefinger and thumb.

"I'm afraid it's probably been longer than that." Rick looked sharply at the headmaster.

"What do you mean?"

"His class teacher noted that he hadn't spoken in at least a few months before being taken into care, not to staff or other pupils. And before that he was very monosyllabic."

"Months?" Asked Rick, aghast. He had assumed that Daryl’s mutism was due to the trauma of the last few days, thought that he would start speaking as soon as he started to settle, but- "I didn't realise it was already an issue." he admitted.

"Don’t worry. We'll work together to help him speak, and we can use other ways to communicate in the meantime. I don't mean to sound like I'm teaching grandma to suck eggs, but have you tried giving him pen and paper?"

"Yeah, we tried that yesterday. Merle -that's his brother- insists that Daryl can write, but he wasn't interested." Monroe frowned pensively. 

"I'll think about it. His reports aren't bad, and it seems he's bright enough, but he's missed a lot of schooling so there's some catching up to do. We'll do some basic tests with him when he starts and see where he's at."

"Me and Michonne'll do whatever we can to help him too. What about friends?" 

"Doesn't seem like had any. The teacher couldn't name a single one. Looks like the other kids just avoided him." Rick felt sad that this young boy had so few people to care for him. There was a knock on the door, and Sasha poked her head round. 

"I'm really sorry to interrupt, but I think Daryl's finding this a bit much." Rick was on his feet in an instant. 

"Where is he?" She pushed the door open, revealing the ten-year-old. He was breathing fast, chalk white and shaking. "Hey, what's up?" Rick knelt before him, extending an arm. “Has something upset you?” No answer came, but Daryl made a movement as though he’d been about to take Rick’s hand but thought better of it. Instead, he twisted his fingers into knots and curled in on himself. “I think I’d better take him home. Is it alright if I call you later?” 

"Of course." The principal swept around the desk, looking concerned. "Let me know how he is. We'll see you on Monday."

* * *

"Just keep taking deep breaths. There you go, that's it. Good boy." Daryl was leaning heavily against the car, hands on his knees and hyperventilating. Michonne, Judith and Merle weren't back yet. Rick hoped this was a good sign, and not that the teenager had simply run off again. "Why don't you sit down?" He opened the passenger door, and Daryl flopped into the seat. "Here, watch me. Breathe with me, Daryl." Rick inhaled exaggeratedly, placing one hand on his chest. Daryl copied, setting his own palm flat against the jut of his ribcage. Rick exhaled, and Daryl did the same. They stood quietly for a few minutes, listening to the faint hum of traffic. "Good boy." Rick said again when Daryl's breathing was almost back to normal. "Does your chest hurt? No? Are you sure? Okay, well you need to tell me if it does. Just come up to me and tug on your ear." Rick demonstrated. "Yeah, just like that."

"Everything okay?" Rick hadn't seen Michonne approach. He looked past her to Merle, who was giving a chuckling Judith a piggyback ride. 

"Yeah, all good." He smiled at Merle, pleased to see he was in good humour. “Let’s go home.”  
  
Daryl slipped off to his bedroom as soon as they got back, seeming to yearn for solitude. Merle, who had ignored his brother the whole journey home, was stacking blocks and telling Judith she was King Kong. The sounds of their laughter filtered into the kitchen, while Rick and Michonne told each other about their respective tours.

“I don’t think it’s the school he’s interested in,” She said, cutting up pieces of fruit for the kids. “More the pretty girl in his class who smiled at him.”

“Well, if it gets him there, I’ll take it.” Rick joked, popping a piece of melon in his mouth. “Sounds like you had a better morning than I did.” 

“Yeah, who’d have thought? Poor Daryl.”

“I figured we’d have a quiet afternoon, maybe play some games or something. Think it’d be good to spend some time all together.” He took a plate of fruit through to Merle and Judith, who was happily destroying any creation the teenager built for her. They pounded their chests in unison, roaring their very best gorilla impersonations. Rick couldn’t keep the grin from his face, despite the noise level. The phone rang, and he heard Michonne answer it from the kitchen. Her voice dropped to a murmur, making him think that it was probably someone in relation to Merle and Daryl. When she came through to join them, her grim expression confirmed it.

“I know this is bad timing,” She whispered while Merle and Judith were distracted by the food. “But the police want to interview Daryl and have their doctor check him over this afternoon.”

“Interview him? The kid doesn’t talk.” Rick muttered back. The thought of trying to coax Daryl through another examination after the anxiety of the morning was not appealing.

“I know, that’s what I told Carol.” Michonne glanced at Merle, then motioned for Rick to follow her into the hall. “She seems as frustrated as we are, but apparently they’re insisting on trying to talk to him while the event is still fresh in his mind.” Rick couldn’t imagine it would be easy to forget such a savage beating, but he knew that some children are able to block out their worst memories.

“They’re trying to prosecute the father then?”

“I guess they must be. I also said that Daryl’s already had a difficult morning, but she said they have to try. Do you want me to take him?” 

“No, I think I should. I think I see what you meant, earlier.”

“Oh?”

“You know, that Daryl’s starting to bond with me? It’s only tiny things, but I think you’re right.”

“Of course I’m right.” She teased. “And I’m glad. If he can trust us, he can settle here.” Rick pulled his wife into an embrace, breathing her in.

“You’re amazing.” He told her.

* * *

“Come on, honey. This will only take a minute.” The medical assistant pleaded. She tried to take Daryl’s hand, but he jerked it from her grasp and backed away several more paces. “Don’t you want to be a brave boy?” Rick frowned at her, holding a hand up to keep her from coming any closer. 

“Daryl _is_ being brave,” he said, loud enough for him to hear. “He’s had a rough few days, that’s all.” A rough few years, more like. The assistant flushed, straightening up and looking mildly affronted. Rick wondered if she was new at this. He’d had to bring a child here before to be examined by a police doctor, and the staff at that time had all been very patient and understanding. This woman seemed more eager to finish the job and go for lunch than ease her patient’s anxiety. The examination room door opened, and a man appeared.

“Everything okay in here?” He asked, looking from Daryl cowering in the corner, to Rick with his hand still raised, to his pink assistant.

“Daryl’s not being very cooperative.” She informed him, flicking her long blonde hair over her shoulder.

“That’s alright. We all have days like that sometimes. Why don’t you go for your break, Andrea? I can take over from here.” He held the door open for her, and closed it again once she’d gone.

“It’s okay, buddy. Come and sit down.” Rick pulled out a chair for Daryl. 

“I’m sorry about that. Andrea’s temp staff, and-” The doctor frowned, but didn’t finish his sentence. “I’m doctor Carson.”

“Rick. My wife already explained this to Daryl’s social worker, but he’s already had to deal with a lot this week.” Carson raised a hand.

“Of course, I understand completely. I’ve already spoken to the doctor you saw over at the clinic, so I just want to take a quick look today and take a few photographs.” Daryl started shaking his head vehemently, knuckles white from clutching the arms of his chair. “Hey, careful there. We don’t want you to injure yourself further, do we? We’ll take it nice and slow, go at your pace. I know you probably feel you’ve been poked and prodded enough this week, so I promise I’ll only touch you if necessary, and only with your permission.”  
It took an hour to cajole Daryl out of his shirt, and he point-blank refused to remove anything else. Carson didn’t push it, and kept his promise about keeping touching to a minimum. Rick held up a sheet as a back-drop while the doctor took his photographs, asking Daryl to raise his arms or turn halfway. “Good job, Daryl. Really excellent. Now, if you could just face towards Rick for me- perfect.” The shutter clicked. 

“You’re being so strong,” Rick whispered at the top of Daryl’s head. “Just a little longer.” He didn’t mention the fact that they still had the ‘interview’ to get through. Carson set the camera down and flicked the lights off, picking up a UV light wand from his desk. 

“I’m just gonna run this over you, okay? It won’t hurt, and I won’t have to touch you. See?” He ran the wand over his own arm. Rick knew he was looking for old bruising. The doctor slowly moved the light up Daryl’s left arm, and then the right. Rick winced when he saw the telltale, round wound of a cigarette burn on the tender skin of his forearm. The light moved over his chest back, revealing more injury by the second. “There,” Carson set the wand back down and flicked the lightswitch. “All done. Well done, you did really good. Here, I think you deserve two lollipops for that.” He held out a jar, letting Daryl take a couple. He looked up at the doctor, and gave a tiny nod.  
As Rick had envisaged, the interview was pointless. He wasn’t allowed in, so he waited outside for a further ninety minutes before Carol brought Daryl back to him. She shook her head in response to his raised eyebrow, mouthing ‘I’ll call you later’ over Daryl’s head.

* * *

“You had no fuckin’ right!” Merle roared when they got home. “He already seen a doctor, ain’t he? So why you have to take him again?”

“Merle, we’ve already been through this. The police wanted-”

“The police?” The teenager hollered. He whirled on the spot to face his brother, expression livid. “The hell you been sayin’ to ‘em?” Daryl scuttled away, head hanging. Merle made to follow him, but Michonne intervened. 

“That’s enough, Merle. Carol asked us to take your brother to the police doctor, so that’s what we did.”

“Why’re you doin’ this?” He yelled in Michonne’s face. “I told you a thousand fuckin’ times, Daryl’s always been rough ‘nd tumble! Been gettin’ into fights from the moment he could walk, and all y’all are actin’ like it’s the goddamn news of the century or somethin’!” Rick put a hand on his wife’s shoulder.

“Listen, Merle-”

“Nah, I’m tired ‘a listenin’. Fuck this shit. C’mon, Daryl.” Merle stomped upstairs, and a door slammed. 

“You don’t have to go, you know.” Michonne told the younger boy as he limped after his brother. Daryl ignored her.  
  
“Not quite the relaxing afternoon I had planned.” Rick sighed. He’d just checked on the kids, and joined Michonne on the couch for a small glass of wine each. Judith had been lying in the contorted slumber that only a toddler could find comfortable, clutching her favourite stuffed dog. Carl was asleep on his back, mouth slightly open, the bedtime story they had been reading still lying open on his nightstand. Daryl had climbed across into his brother’s bed, all animosity apparently forgotten, and they slept curled up like puppies. 

“No,” Michonne agreed. “Do you think there was any use in all that?”

“Apart from stressing Daryl even more? I doubt it. When Carol phoned she said he didn't say a word, wouldn't even look up. Still,” he yawned widely. “Least it’s over for now. Hopefully we can have a quiet few days before the boys start school.” Michonne kissed his neck, sliding her hand into his. Rick wrapped an arm around her, always grateful for the peaceful moments they were able to snare together.


	4. What is Real?

No matter how often he did it, dropping Carl off at Lori’s always seemed to chip away a tiny piece of Rick’s heart. He helped his son shrug on his backpack, and knelt to give him a hug

“Thanks for helping Merle and Daryl feel at home. You’ve done an amazing job this week, I hope you know that.” He gently flicked the bill of Carl’s baseball cap, setting it at an angle. Carl giggled.

“I like helping.” Rick rolled up a few dollar bills and tucked them in his son’s shirt pocket. 

“Well, I’ve put a little extra in your allowance this week, to say thank you. Mom’s taking you to Six Flags this weekend, right? Maybe you could buy something there.” Carl’s face lit up, blue eyes shining. 

“Wow, thanks dad!” He gave his father a final hug, then ran off towards the apartment building where Lori was waiting. Their custody agreement was fairly informal, but Carl tended to stay for a few days with each parent at a time, and saying goodbye was always hard. Rick waved until they were out of sight, then drove home. Michonne taught an art class on Thursday afternoon, and he’d hate to make her late for it. 

* * *

“‘What is Real?’” Rick read aloud, Judith perched on his lap and turning the pages of the book for him. He was aware of Merle muttering something to Daryl from where they sat at the table, but couldn’t make out the words. “‘Real isn’t how you are made,’ said the Skin Horse.” Daryl’s head was characteristically bowed, hands worrying at each other. 

“You hear me?” Rick heard Merle's voice rise as he paused to catch his breath. He looked up at the teenager, who caught his eye and glared. He stood and swaggered from the room, and Daryl pulled his knees to his chest. Judith gave a squawk of impatience, so Rick continued reading.

“‘It doesn’t happen all at once,’ said the Skin Horse. ‘You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't happen often to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept.’” He wondered if Daryl was listening, or if he’d retreated somewhere to the back of his mind. “‘By the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real, you can't be ugly.’” One of Rick’s favourite things about having his own children was being able to share with them the things he himself had loved growing up. Taking long, adventurous walks in the countryside with a picnic of triangle sandwiches and fruit juice that always tasted better sitting on a blanket in the open air. Getting home in the dark of winter and drinking cocoa with marshmallows in front of the fire. Reading books together, like _The Velveteen Rabbit_. He could remember his own mother reading it to him, arms like a cocoon in their embrace, feeling safe and warm.

When he closed the book at last, Judith launched herself from his lap in search of something else to entertain her, and he looked up to find Daryl watching him closely. Had there ever been a time when he or Merle had sat curled in the arms of a parent, listening to a story?

“Nana!” Judith yelled, holding a plastic apple aloft. Rick laughed, and the corners of Daryl’s mouth twitched. 

“Not quite, darlin’. That’s an apple. Can you say that? A-pple.”

“Nana!” Daryl slid off his chair, searching in the cascade of toys Judith had tipped from a box. He pulled out a curved yellow object, and offered it to the toddler. She snatched it, a giggle bubbling up from her chest.

“That’s nice, isn’t it Judith?” Rick ran a hand through her soft curls. “Daryl’s found you a banana.”

“Nana.” Judith concurred.

“It’s one of her favourite words at the moment,” Rick told Daryl unnecessarily. “Last week it was juice, and before that it was- well, we’re not really sure. It sounded like she was trying to say Cheerios, but it was more like Ee-ee-ohs. Only a child of mine could have so many items of food as their first words.” Daryl sat crossed-legged on the floor, just a few feet away. It was nice to think that he was actively seeking their company, and didn’t just happen to be in the same room at the same time. Rick paused, trying to think of something they could do together that wouldn’t require speech. “Hey, I’ve got an idea. Why don’t you help me make dinner? Told you I’d cook mac’n’cheese for you, didn’t I?” He’d found in the past that children would often be more likely to relax their guard if they were focused on a task, so cooking and baking with their foster placements was something he and Michonne did regularly. They headed to the kitchen, and Rick sat Judith on the floor with a few wooden spoons and a plastic bowl to keep her occupied. “Now, how confident are you with a knife?” Daryl looked up and shrugged, fiddling with one of the buttons on his shirt. Carol had told Rick that the Dixon family appeared to be a hunting one, as several bows and skinning knives had been noted at their house. “Think you could chop up some vegetables for me? If I only serve up pasta I’ll get in trouble with Michonne.” He set Daryl up chopping florets of broccoli and cauliflower, while he got to work making the roux for the cheese sauce. By the time Michonne got back from her class, the air was filled with the smell of garlic bread warming in the oven, and a steaming dish of pasta lay on the dining table. Daryl carefully arranged cutlery and glasses at each placemat, occasionally halting to pick up the stray pieces of macaroni that Judith seemed to be flinging all over the place. 

“Wow, you’ve been busy!” Michonne kissed Rick on the cheek as she set her bag down. “Smells amazing. And Daryl, you’re a good boy helping set the table.”

"He’s done more than that,” Rick told her, smiling at his little assistant. “Practically cooked the whole meal himself, didn’t you Daryl?” The ten-year-old blushed to his roots, but Rick thought he was pleased.

* * *

The days slipped by without major incident, if not totally peacefully. Merle’s temper was the sharp end of a knife edge, and he was liable to explode at any moment. They could always talk him down, but not knowing what would set him off left everyone feeling a little tense. Daryl, wordless and withdrawn, mostly trailed behind his truculent brother.   
Sunday evening left both boys in some state of anxiety at the prospect of school, but the way they expressed it was very different. Merle bounced between effervescing with good humour and glowering with rage. Daryl nibbled his lip, pulled a thread on his sweater loose and bit his thumb until it bled. Rick searched through their collection of Disney and Pixar DVDs in an attempt to distract them all, eschewing _Bambi, Dumbo,_ and _The Lion King_ straight off. Why did so many kid’s movies have to feature the death or loss of a parent?   
They sat on the sofa together to watch _Monsters Inc_ , Rick and Michonne with Judith between them at one end, the boys at the other. Merle pulled Daryl close to him, and Rick felt his eyes mist as the younger boy curled up against his brother. Even if their parents hadn’t had any affection for their sons, at least they had each other to cling to.

* * *

“Mr. Grimes?” Rick turned to find a young woman standing before him.

“It’s Rick. I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.” He said apologetically. He knew the woman by sight, and that she worked at the school in some capacity. She smiled, not at all offended. 

“I’m Rosita. Principal Monroe spoke to me this morning and asked if I’d mind meeting with Daryl this morning. I’m a TA,” she explained, leading them along the corridor to the classroom. “I usually work with a pupil in another class, but she’s off school for the next few weeks after surgery so I’m all free at the moment. The principal told me all about you,” she told Daryl, smiling genially. “And I’m really looking forward to spending some time with you. I thought we could spend the first few days sitting together, so you get a chance to settle in. And since you’re cleared from P.E for a while, we’ll have plenty of time to get to know each other. Is that okay?” Daryl had barely taken his eyes from the teaching assistant, clearly taken with her. He gave a small nod, glancing at Rick. 

“That sounds good, doesn’t it? And Carl will meet you for lunch, so make sure to look out for him in the cafeteria. Carl is my son,” Rick told Rosita. “He’s in the second grade, but his teacher said it would be okay if they sat together for a while. Hope that’s okay?”

“Sounds great.” The bell rang, and Daryl jumped at the noise. “Well, that’s our cue. Say bye to Rick, and he’ll be back to pick you up at three-fifteen.” He shuffled forward a few paces, folding his hands in his pockets. 

“Have a good day, buddy.” Rick was keen to leave before Daryl’s class arrived, aware that being taken into school by a foster carer wouldn’t help him fit in. “I promise I’ll be waiting when school ends.” Daryl ducked his head again. 

“Alright, c’mon handsome. Let’s see whatcha got.” Rosita smiled.

* * *

For the first few days, Rick kept expecting the phone to ring. Every time it did, he imagined it would be one of the boys’ schools on the other end, asking them to collect Daryl because he was having a panic attack, or warning them that they had put Merle in detention for some misdemeanor. There had been no such call by Friday however, and he started to relax. Carl was with them for the weekend, so they all enjoyed a takeout pizza and warm cookie dough for dessert. 

“Never had this before,” Merle said as he licked his fingers clean. “Our old man always said takeout’s a waste of good drinkin’ money.” 

“And what do you think?” Michonne asked, stacking her empty plate on top of Rick’s. “Did you like it?” Merle gave a satisfied belch in response, and Carl giggled. Rick shot him a pretend stern look. 

“You’re a real charmer, Merle.” The teenager grinned at him, giving him a warm feeling in his chest. Evenings like this were what you hoped for as a parent and a foster carer, when just for a few moments they could all pretend to be one happy family and forget painful pasts. 

“Welp, what can I say? Take after our pa.” Daryl looked at his brother sharply, a small pile of tissue at his elbow where he’d been ripping his napkin to shreds. Rick wondered if Merle really thought he was like their father, a man who’d probably abused his sons since they were small. He hoped that the cycle might be broken with these two, that they had been taken away from that life soon enough for it to make a difference. It was a battle of Nature vs. Nurture, no doubt about it.

  
  
“Hey, Merle?” Rick called him back as he made to follow Daryl upstairs. “You don’t always have to go to bed the same time as Daryl, you know. I mean, you’re older than he is.” Merle paused, one foot on the first step.

“Yeah, but you said he has to go up at nine.” He replied, as though this explained it.

“That’s right. But you can stay up ‘till ten, if you want. I know you probably still don’t think that’s late enough, but at least it means you get a little extra time.”

“Nah. The kid can’t get to sleep without me.” 

“Then why don’t you stay with him until he falls asleep, then come down?” Rick persisted. “We could play cards or something, you, me and Michonne.” Merle considered this, scratching the space behind his ear.

“What if he wakes up?” 

“You’ll be right downstairs, not on the moon. And I’m sure Daryl won’t wake up, so long as you don’t shout too loud when I win.” The teenager rolled his eyes good-humouredly. 

“Yeah, alright then. I’ll be back when he’s off in sandland."  
  
“Did you share a room back home, like you do here?” Rick asked casually as he dealt the cards between the three of them. Merle squinted at him through narrowed eyelids, apparently deciding whether or not this was safe territory.

“Yeah,” he said eventually. “S’why Daryl can’t sleep without me, I think. He’s just used to it.”

“Does he have nightmares?”

“No,” Merle said quickly. “Why you askin’?” Rick shrugged, feigning indifference.

“No reason. Just that you were worried about him waking up is all.”

“Yeah, well. We ain’t been here that long. Might be confusin’ to wake up not sure where y’are.” 

“I’ll bet.” Rick placed a card face-down. “One ace.”

“One two.” Michonne added her own card. “So, is there anything you like to do for fun? Maybe something we could do this weekend?” 

“Two twos.” Merle dropped his own cards on the pile. “Nah, nothin’ in particular.”

“What did you used to do at home, in your free time?” Merle shrugged. 

“Not much. Used to go out in the woods sometimes, Daryl ‘nd me.” He didn’t mention the hunting, and Rick didn’t ask. 

“There’s a forest near here you might like. There’s some great trees to climb.” Rick told him, thinking this might be the kind of thing they did for fun at home. “One three.”

“Yeah, that might be okay.” 

“Great. When we end up at ED because someone’s broken a limb, I’ll let you explain Rick.” Michonne laughed. “Two fours.”

“Fine by me. Maybe we can take lunch, make a day of it.”

“Can you put in some of those little crackers we had the other day?” Merle asked eagerly. “Oh, yeah. One four.” His attitude towards Michonne had improved a lot over the past few days, making Rick think that he didn’t genuinely hold any ill-will against her.

“I like those too,” he agreed. “Four fives.”

“Cheat!” Merle accused. Rick flipped the pile with a grin, and he groaned. “Damnit. A’right, gimme the damn cards.”

Rick went to bed feeling hopeful that night. They'd almost made it through their first two weeks with the boys, and neither he or Michonne felt like tearing their hair out yet.

* * *

He spoke too soon. On Saturday they made the promised trip to a nearby nature reserve, ate a picnic from the forest floor and watched all three boys climbing trees. It had been a calm and peaceful, which made it all the more surprising when he got home from dropping Carl at Lori's the following day to find the house in chaos. He heard Michonne and Merle's shouts from the driveway coupled with the sounds of Judith bawling, and his heart skipped a beat. He ran up to the front door without pausing to lock the car, and burst into the house to find his wife cradling their daughter and looking panicked.

"Get off me, you little shit!" Merle bellowed from the sitting room. Rick hurtled past Michonne towards the ruckus, dismayed to find the brothers in a tangle of limbs and whirling fists. He watched, open-mouthed, as Daryl socked his brother right in the jaw. Merle gave a grunt of pain and a ferocious shove in response. Daryl went down hard, but sprang up a moment later, ready for more. Rick forced himself into action, grabbing hold of Merle's arm before he could land his own punch. He pushed the teenager away and took hold of Daryl, who writhed and made noises like an animal with its back to the wall. During their training, he and Michonne had been taught techniques to restrain a child without hurting them, only to be used as a last resort. It brought him back to his days as a deputy and restraining suspects. Only this wasn't a criminal struggling in his arms, it was a traumatised child.

"Are you okay?" Rick panted to Merle as he tried to wrap his arms around Daryl's body. The teenager was breathing hard, a flash of the wild behind his blue eyes. He gave a tight nod, fists still clenched as he watched his brother thrashing around.

"Fine. Stupid asshole nearly broke my damn jaw." He growled, rubbing the spot. "Daryl, calm the fuck down, man. He ain't hurtin' you." When Daryl gave no sign of having heard him, he shook his head and turned away. "Fuck this. I'm goin' for a walk." He turned and marched down the hallway.

"Will you be alright?" Rick heard Michonne ask. He didn't hear the reply, momentarily distracted as Daryl sank his teeth into his arm. He let go with a cry of surprise and pain, and the boy scrambled away and tore upstairs. Deciding to let him cool off for a minute, Rick headed back through the hall. Merle was gone, and Michonne still held Judith close. Her cries had softened into sniffles, resting her head against her mom's chest and peaking up at Rick through watery eyes.

"What the hell happened? He asked, rubbing the spot where Daryl had tried to take a bite out of him. 

"I wish I knew. I was in the kitchen doing some cleaning, Judith was with me. The boys were watching TV one minute, then going at each other the next. No idea what started it. Thank god you came home when you did, Rick. Not sure I could've pulled them apart like that."

"I'm not sure that it was Merle that started it, you know. Daryl was the one who was really angry, he bit me when I was trying to restrain him." He flashed his arm at Michonne, and she caught his wrist in her hand to inspect the wound. 

"I'll get the Bactine." She sighed deeply. "I hope Merle's okay. Maybe I should have tried to stop him, but-"

"No." Rick interrupted her, stroking Judith's cheek with a finger. "He needs to clear his head; we'll just have to hope that he'll come back this time. We'll give it an hour, then if he's not back we'll call it in."

"What about Daryl? One of us should go talk to him.

"Yeah." Rick winced as she applied the spray to the bite mark. "I'll give him a few more minutes to calm down, then I'll talk to him."

"Is that your blood?" Michonne asked, pointing to a smear of red on the crook of his elbow. Rick inspected it.

"Nah, must be Daryl's." She pushed the first-aid kit at him.

"You better take this with you." 

The door to the boys' room was closed, so Rick knocked before he entered. Daryl was on his bed, curled in a ball with his forehead resting on his knees. He looked up as Rick crossed the threshold, all-over red pencilled eyes and stained cheeks. For a moment, the only sound was the ticking of the clock on the wall.

"We need to talk about what just happened, Daryl." Rick said, trying to keep his voice low. "That was not acceptable behaviour." He took a few steps closer, hands on his hips and thumbs tucked into the waistline of his pants. Daryl unravelled, his arms coming up as though to defend himself from Rick's words. The kid was shaking, he realised. His eyes were so wide that they seemed to pop out of his head, and his lip was trembling. Daryl wasn't looking him in the eye, but at a spot around his midriff. Rick followed his gaze downwards, unsure what he was staring at with such fear. He looked at his hands resting on his leather belt. He realised with a sudden stab of sadness and horror that Daryl thought he was about to learn a lesson the brutal way. Rick let his hands drop at once, his stomach churning with guilt. "I'm not going to hurt you, sweetheart." He said softly, sitting opposite Daryl on Merle's bed. "We don't hit our children in this house, and that includes you and your brother. Do you remember when you first came to us, and we talked about our house rules and how we all keep kind hands?" Daryl only blinked back at him. "Those rules apply to all of us, because we don't hurt people we care about. Now, I don't know what you and Merle were fighting about, and I don't need to. But I don't ever want to see you two come to blows again, you hear me?" Daryl let out the breath he'd been holding, and nodded. "Good. Now, where are you hurt?" Rick was relieved that the pneumothorax had already healed, or they might have needed a trip to the hospital rather than a bandage. Daryl reluctantly held out an arm. "Can I?" He asked, gesturing. The ten-year-old gave another small nod. Rick took his hand in one of his own, looking at the cut on the side of Daryl's wrist. It was the first time he had let himself be touched by anyone other than Merle, and Rick could feel the hand trembling in his light grasp. "Did I do this?" He asked, concerned. Daryl shook his head, looking back at his knees. "Did it happen when you fell?" A nod. "It's not deep, so I'll just put something on it to keep it clean, and then we'll stick a bandaid on it." Daryl didn't flinch as Rick had when the Bactine made his cut sting, and he let him apply the plaster and smooth it down with his thumb. "There, you're all patched up. Come on downstairs now, and I'll find you some pens and paper." They'd discovered via Rosita that Daryl seemed to enjoy art, and would happily spend hours concentrating on a painting or modelling clay. Before they headed downstairs, Rick dared to reach out and squeeze Daryl's shoulder. He didn't look wholly comfortable, but neither did he flinch.

Sitting at the breakfast bar, Daryl spent the next hour carefully sketching and colouring. He bent low over his work so they couldn't see what he was drawing, but he was so intent that he didn't seem to notice when Michonne accidentally brushed his elbow as she passed. 

When the knock at the door heralded Merle's return, he looked up at last. Rick caught a glimpse of what looked like a motorcycle as Daryl snatched up the paper and headed out to the hallway. Michonne opened the door, and Merle stepped inside.

"Hey, when will I get my own- oof!" The breath was knocked out of him as Daryl flung his arms around his brother's middle and hugged him tightly. "Jesus, little brother. You tryna bust my spleen or somethin'?" Daryl stepped back, and held out his drawing. "This for me?" Merle studied it closely. "That a Harley? That's real good, kid." He ruffled Daryl's hair affectionately. "Yeah, I'm sorry too."

* * *

It was weird, Rick thought as he lay in bed that night. What the fight was about they would probably never know, but it had been oddly positive. Hopefully after their conversation, Daryl would start to feel more safe in knowing that no one would try to hurt him, and he would slowly start to open up. The biggest success of the day though, in Rick's mind, was that he'd been able to be tactile with him for the first time without the poor kid flinching or ducking away. From here, he could start to gradually build affection towards people other than Merle. 

It was harder with older children. In a younger child who didn't like to be touched, you could build up trust in doing everyday things such as giving them a bath, drying their hair when it was wet and lifting them to things out of their reach. In someone Daryl's age, who had likely endured a decade of cruelty, it would have to be something that came naturally, and with time. Rick hoped they would be given that time.

It looked likely that social services wouldn't even consider sending the boys back to their father, but you could never know what a judge might decide in court- especially if the child's family had a good lawyer. He had seen it in the past as a police officer, and he saw it now as a foster carer.

"Some things never change." He whispered to himself as his eyes fluttered shut. 


	5. Hide-and-Seek

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't had a lot of time to edit this, so I hope it's okay. Thanks for reading.

The honeymoon period was officially over. In the past week, Merle had been suspended from school for the day twice, stayed out past curfew, and shouted at all of them constantly. He even yelled at Daryl when he got fed up with being followed around by his kid brother, sending him scurrying off to the safety of their bedroom.

"Well, it lasted nearly five weeks," Michonne sighed as she crossed another day off the calendar. "We had a pretty good run." 

"Yep." Rick cringed as a door slammed overhead. "Shame it didn't last until after Carl's birthday. I really hope we've made the right call, having the party here." They'd somehow agreed to host ten kids from Carl's class for his eighth birthday the following Saturday, and Rick couldn't help but imagine all of the ways it could go wrong. "What if Merle drops the F-bomb in front of everyone and they go home and repeat it to their parents?"

"That would be a party favour as unwelcome as a kazoo," Michonne chuckled. "Don’t worry, Rick. I'm sure Merle will be good as gold, and Carl is going to have an amazing day. Trust me."

* * *

On Monday afternoon, the local social services office hosted the first review meeting for Merle and Daryl. Rick had encouraged them to attend, but Merle had been disdainful and Daryl happy to follow his brother’s lead. 

At a review, the foster carers, social worker, teachers, health professionals and sometimes the parents would all sit down and talk about whether the child's needs were being met, and the plan for the future. Rick hoped that this meeting would shed some light on the events to come, and give everyone an idea of how the boys were getting on.

They met Maggie and Carol chatting in the entrance to the building, each clutching a vending machine cup of coffee. 

"It's nice to see you again," the latter said politely. "How are you and the kids?" Rick and Michonne exchanged looks.

"Up and down," she replied. "They've certainly been keeping us on our toes." Maggie set her coffee on the floor and gave them each a hug.

"I'm so sorry I haven't been to visit you and the boys yet," she apologised sincerely. "My caseload has been enormous lately. I'll stop by later in the week, if that's alright?"

"No need to apologise, and you're welcome anytime. Judith always loves seeing you."

"How's your father?" Rick asked as they headed towards the meeting room. "Still going strong?"

"You know it." Maggie grinned. She tucked a lock of her short brown hair behind her ear. "Glenn proposed to me a few weeks ago, and he's thrilled." She held out her hand, ring finger adorned by a simple but delicate silver band.

"He proposed?" Michonne gasped. "That's wonderful news!" 

"Congratulations," smiled Rick. "He seems like a great guy."

"Yeah. Think I'll keep him."

The meeting was opened by the chairperson, someone independent from the social services to keep the review unbiased. It was Jacqui, a kind woman whom they'd met previously during another placement. They went round the table introducing themselves. Rick, Michonne, Carol, Maggie, Sasha, Rosita, Merle's homeroom teacher Milton and Doctor Carson. 

"Was the father invited?" Jacqui asked.

"Yes, but Mr. Dixon felt it was too great a distance to travel. I offered to drive him, but-" Carol shrugged. "He said that he didn't see the point."

"I'll note his apologies for the records. Is there anyone else who couldn’t attend?"

"Yes, the doctor who examined Daryl when he was first taken into care. He sends his apologies with his report, but his clinics are always full and they can't really spare him."

"Okay, no problem." Jacqui made another note. "Shall we get started?" A murmur of ascent ran around the table. "Carol, would you like to speak first, and tell us about the circumstances that led to Merle and Daryl coming into care?" The social worker gave a brief summary, referring to the top page in a rather heavy looking file. 

"The father has been released pending further investigation," she finished. "But the police aren't sure there's anything they can do right now if the boys aren't willing to talk about it."

"I see. But there is physical evidence, as I understand it?"

"Yes," Carson answered. "Some. I examined Daryl and read the report by the community clinic's physician." He checked his watch. "Actually, would it be possible for me to speak next? Sorry to rush you all, but I'm due in court this afternoon and I'd like to spend some time preparing before lunch." Usually there was some sort of order to these review meetings and the foster carers would be asked to speak next, but it didn't really matter.

"Of course," Jacqui told him. "Go ahead."

"I was unable to speak to Daryl or examine him thoroughly, as the child was highly anxious and non-communicative," the doctor began, fiddling with his tie. "He consented to removing his shirt, but that was all. There was a bruise to his right cheekbone." Carson pointed to the spot on his own face. "Upon examination, I found extensive bruising to his ribcage. The x-ray performed by the clinic showed fractures to ribs five and six, resulting in a pneumothorax which has thankfully healed by itself." He shuffled his notes, and Rick wondered if talking about it in a clinical way made the words easier to speak. "There was also evidence of remodelled bone, suggesting previous trauma. The child has many scars to his chest, back and upper arms which I believe to have been caused by repeated blows with an object such as a belt, and what appears to be a cigarette burn to his forearm. I then shined a UV light over the child, which can reveal old bruising once it has faded, and found evidence of widespread contusions to much of his upper body. In my belief, Daryl has been abused over a long period of time. Years, probably." A stunned silence followed this. Rosita and Sasha exchanged horrified looks.

"That's awful. What about Merle? Was he seen by a doctor?" Jacqui asked after a while. Rick shook his head.

"Unfortunately we haven't been able to persuade Merle to attend any of the appointments Carol's made for him. He didn't much like us taking Daryl in either." Carson looked at his watch again.

"I think I've covered everything. I'll leave you my full report, but is there anything else you need from me before I go?"

"No," Jacqui finished writing her sentence. "Thank you for your time, I know you must be very busy."

"Not at all." The doctor said his goodbyes hurriedly and left the room.

"Have either Merle or Daryl made any reference to the injuries, or any possible abuse?"

"Daryl hasn't spoken to us yet, but Merle's been trying to convince us that his little brother just has a tendency for fighting with his friends," Michonne said, leaning forward to fill a glass with water from the pitcher in the middle of the table. "Only, Daryl's previous school said that he didn't  _ have  _ any friends to fight with." A tear slipped down Rosita's cheek, and she wiped it away hurriedly.

"Are you okay?" Jacqui asked her kindly. "Do you need a minute?" 

"No, I'm sorry. I've never had to come to one of these meetings before, and it's just- Daryl's quiet, but I think he's a sweet kid under everything and I'm-" Rosita blotted her eyes with a tissue. Sasha reached for her hand and gave it a squeeze.

"We knew Daryl had probably been through a lot, but it's always hard hearing about it." She finished for Rosita. 

"It is," Maggie sighed, giving them a sad smile. "No matter how many times you hear about a child sufferin', it never gets easier." They moved the meeting on, and Jacqui asked Rick and Michonne to tell them more about how the boys were settling into care. Michonne described Merle's protectiveness over Daryl, his often exuberant personality, and the anger that bubbled just underneath. She told them about his instance of running away, and how he'd been in trouble at school a few times already for being disruptive. 

"He can be so good with the younger kids, patient and fun, but when he loses his temper-" she puffed out her cheeks. "He  _ really  _ loses it." When she was done, Rick talked about Daryl and the issues he'd been facing. The mutism, the fight, his fear afterwards and how he was starting to allow Rick and Michonne to touch him lightly on the shoulder or arm. 

"He's making tiny steps forward, but at least he's moving." He summarised. Jacqui gave them a smile.

"It sounds like he's starting to feel safe with you, which is really good to hear." Carol and Maggie nodded in agreement. 

"I hope so. They're both good kids who should've had better." The meeting moved on to Milton, Merle's teacher.

"I'm afraid to say that his enthusiasm for learning is severely diminished," the bespectacled man started. "And his presence in class is having a marked effect on the other pupils. He's loud, confrontational, and quick to anger. Something between a class clown and a school bully, which I think might partly stem from his being badly behind in his education. He's working at a level four years below him, and struggling even with that. There was an incident of him and another pupil squaring up to each other, but a teacher intervened before it could turn into a fight, and it was dealt with quickly. He  _ has _ made a few friends in some of the other more non-compliant pupils," Milton continued, using the codeword for 'badly behaved'. "And his Phys Ed teacher has nothing but praise for him. Apparently Merle excels in sports, and Mr. Ford hopes he'll join the wrestling team in the new term." Rick was pleasantly surprised to hear this, and made a mental note to ask Merle if he might be interested in joining him at the gym once in a while.

"Maybe we can make that a goal for Merle, to have him join an after-school club?" Jacqui suggested, her pen flying across the page.

"Good idea." Michonne squeezed Rick's knee under the table.

"Miss. Williams, can you tell us about how Daryl's doing at school?" Sasha cleared her throat, still holding Rosita's hand.

"It's been a little tough assessing Daryl's abilities due to him being non-verbal, but we think he's probably working at a second or third grade level right now. We haven't heard him read aloud, but our class spends an hour in the library each week and he always chooses something to read, though it's usually something young for his age. I think he's gone through every dog-related book in the place." She said with a small smile. "He also seems to enjoy art, but his creations are a little-" her eyes flicked around the table. "Disturbing."

"How do you mean?" Asked Jacqui, pausing from writing to look up at Sasha. She released Rosita's hand to pull her satchel from the back of the chair, producing a painting from one of the inside pockets. Rick craned his neck to get a better look at it, unsure of what he was supposed to be seeing. It was only different saturations of grey at first sight; but the longer he stared at the painting, the more it unsettled him. Rosita slid it across the table towards them. There was definitely a shadow in the corner, an ominous silhouette in the image of a man. The figure seemed to be prowling, almost alive on the page despite its obscurity.

"Is that 'sposed to be his father?" Maggie asked, brow creased.

"We're not sure." Rosita answered. "He does a lot of work like this. When he was still recovering from his injuries he was excused from P.E. We did a lot of art together then, and he painted lots of scenes like this. Sometimes I ask him to paint how he's feeling, and it's always sheets of brown and grey."

"You're Daryl's teaching assistant?" Jacqui clarified.

"Yeah. I'm currently splitting my time between Daryl and a child in another class."

"How is he getting on with his peers?" Rosita shrugged helplessly.

"He doesn't interact with them, and they don't interact with him. I think the other students feel a little intimidated by him. Not by anything he's done," she said quickly, seeing the looks on Rick and Michonne's faces. "Just that they don't understand what he's been through, so they don't get why he doesn't talk. He does sit with Rick's son everyday at lunch though, which he seems to like. Carl's a good kid." She smiled at him, and he returned the gesture.

"I'm glad. Are Carl's friends being okay with him?"

"They don't really talk to him, but they're never mean. Carl makes an effort to include him in conversation, and Daryl sometimes smiles at him, which he very rarely does." Rick's throat felt tight, and all he could do was nod. Michonne rubbed his arm gently, looking a little choked herself. 

"Sounds like your family are doing their best for these boys." Jacqui told them. "Okay, so maybe a goal for Daryl could be to have him interacting more with his peers? I know it's difficult when he's feeling unable to talk, but perhaps you could try a few games in class that incorporate being quiet as part of the activity?" Sasha nodded enthusiastically.

"That's a really good idea. We'll definitely think about ways we can help include Daryl." 

"Good. We should really discuss contact arrangements, but-" she glanced at the clock over the door. "I'm conscious of the time." She turned to Milton, Sasha and Rosita. "If you all have work you need to be getting back to, I think we've covered everything we needed to." The teachers and TA rose from their chairs, calling goodbye as they left. Once it was just the five of them remaining, Carol spoke.

"I actually finally managed to speak to Mr. Dixon about contact yesterday. He's been very reluctant about the idea of supervised contact and there's been a lot of back-and-forth, but he's finally agreed to attend a session once a week at the social services' office. Unfortunately it's over seventy miles from the Grimes' house, but the judge granted Mr. Dixon contact and this was the best compromise I could come to." Jacqui pursed her lips but didn't comment. Rick could tell she was wondering why they had to accommodate a man who had treated his sons so brutally, the same thoughts he was having.

"Are there plans for them to begin therapy?"

"Not at present. I discussed this with my manager, and she said the department doesn't want them to start until they know for sure if there's going to be a court case, or it might jeopardise potential evidence." She looked apologetic, even though it hadn't been her decision. 

"That's a shame," Michonne sighed. "They could both do with it."

"I know. As soon as we know, we'll get them on the waiting list. I _have_ sent a referral for speech therapy for Daryl, so you should hopefully get an appointment in the mail soon." At least that was something.

"And what's the plan for Merle and Daryl?" Jacqui tapped her pen lightly on the table.

"Most likely long-term foster care." Carol said simply. Jacqui looked to Michonne and Rick.

"Would you consider fostering them until they leave the system?" She asked. It was a standard question, and didn’t necessarily mean the Dixon brothers would stay with them if the authority felt they might do better elsewhere. Rick looked at his wife, and felt her hand seek his. 

"Yes," he said, for both of them. "We'd have to talk about it as a family, but if they need a forever home then we'd like it to be with us." Even the thought of moving the boys on to different carers made him feel guilty, and they'd only been fostering them a few weeks. For some kids, finding them the perfect match was the right thing to do if the only option was long-term care. For others, like Merle and Daryl and Judith before that, you just knew that the place they belonged was right where they were.

* * *

The house was in disarray as eleven excited second-graders -and Merle- raced around playing games and stuffing their faces with mini hotdogs from the buffet. 

“Looks like he’s having a great time, don’t it?” Rick watched Carl chase after his friends, smiling fondly. 

“I can’t tell if Carl or Merle is having more fun,” Michonne joked. “He really comes into his element when there’s other kids around.” She took the squashed sandwich Judith held out to her. “Oh wow, thanks Judith. Looks delicious.” Rick laughed, and headed off to check on Daryl, sitting in the corner and watching the party with something of a bemused expression.

“You okay, kiddo?” Daryl turned to him, giving a tiny smile. Rick held up the little finger of his right hand, and the ten-year-old pressed his own against the fingertip. Rick had started the mini high-five, hoping it could be some small token of affection that Daryl could choose to give. “I know it’s loud here today, but birthdays only come once a year so we like to make it special. Have you ever had a birthday party?” Daryl shook his head, watching two of Carl’s friends start up an impromptu balloon fight. “Yours is later in the year, right? You might not want a party like this, but maybe we could all do something you’d like. We could go to the beach, or the zoo, the movies. And when it’s Merle’s birthday, we’ll celebrate that too.” It was good for the boys to know that they would get the same as Carl. Fairness was always so important to a child in the system, so Rick and Michonne always strived to give any placement exactly the same as they would their own children. As if his ears had been burning, Merle appeared. 

“Man, those kids are exhausting,” he panted, scooping up a beaker of juice and throwing it back in one. “Think I’ll sleep well tonight.”

“They love having you here.” Rick clapped the teenager on the shoulder. “I think Carl’s social status is gonna shoot up after this, having you at his birthday party.”

“Pssh. That’s ‘cause they’re stupid kids, man. Easily impressed.” He turned to Daryl. “C’mon, we’re gonna play hide-and-seek and I want you on my team.” 

“Hide-and-seek?” Rick asked, wondering if their house held enough hiding places for thirteen giggling kids.

“Daryl’s a real good hider. Like a damn ninja.” The brothers ran off together, leaving Rick to ponder if Daryl was good at hiding because he’d had to be in the past.

* * *

Carl crashed early once the sugar wore off, and Rick carried him up to bed and tucked him in. He checked Judith in her crib, then joined the others downstairs where they were all helping tidy up.

“Who’d have thought a bunch of whippersnappers could make such a big mess,” Merle moaned, tipping plates of half-eaten food into a rubbish bag. “We’ll be here all night.” Daryl scooted along the floor on his knees, sweeping up crumbs and pieces of confetti. 

“We’re grateful for the help.” Michonne said, patting Merle’s elbow. He gave her one of his lopsided grins, and Rick felt a wave of happiness that the day had run so smoothly. There’d been no outbursts, no tantrums, no fights and no F-bombs, thank god. Merle had enjoyed himself as much as Carl had, and Daryl had managed to join in with some of the games.    
Once Daryl was fast asleep in bed, Rick invited Merle to join him and Michonne for another game of Cheat.

“S’been a good day,” Merle muttered, concentrating on his cards. “We never bothered with birthdays before, but it’s been good to celebrate the little man’s big day.”

“Yeah, we always make a big fuss on birthdays here. We must not have enough going on already.” The teenager chuckled. 

“I gotta say, this place is good for my brother. He likes it here, I can tell.”

“What about you?” Michonne asked, throwing a card down. “Do you like it here?” Merle shrugged. 

“Think it might be too late for me. Too fucked up, y’know? Oops. I know, language. Damn potty-mouth of mine.” 

“It’s never too late, Merle.” Rick told him. “You’ve only been with us six weeks, remember.”

“Hm. Well, I ain’t so sure. But Daryl though, he’s still got good in him. I know he comes off a little slow, but that’s just ‘cause he’s quiet. There ain’t nothin’ wrong with his brain.” 

“We know.” Michonne assured him. “We don’t think Daryl’s slow. It’s good to have you both here.”

“Can he stay with you?” Merle asked abruptly, his steely glare unmoving from his cards. “If we don’t go back to our old man, can Daryl stay?” Rick exchanged a puzzled look with Michonne. 

“It’s not our decision to make- but if we’re allowed to, we’d like for both of you to stay.” Merle looked pensive for the rest of the game, and went to bed as soon as they were finished.


	6. Away Without Leave

Rick’s heart sank with the first ring of the phone. He had a bad feeling he knew what the call was about.

“Hello?” He said tentatively.

“ _Hi Rick, it’s me._ ” Came Carol’s weary voice. “ _The contact supervisor just phoned to say that Mr. Dixon hasn’t arrived at the centre yet. It looks like he’ll be a no-show again. I’m gonna take the boys for some lunch, then bring them home again if there’s still no sign of him._ ” Rick gave a sigh of frustration. 

“How long is this gonna go on for? You’ve been driving them back and forth for four weeks and they’ve only seen their father once.” 

“ _I know, it’s infuriating for you and the poor kids. I’m in court next week to try and get the contact cancelled. It can’t go on like this, it’s totally unfair._ ” Rick could hear the emotion in Carol’s voice. The first session had been fairly successful, but those that followed had been difficult and exasperating for everyone involved. The second week, Will Dixon had been drunk and refused access to the centre. The third week he hadn’t shown up at all, and it looked like he was about to do the same again today. Even for children whose parents were violent and abusive, going all the way to contact and their mother or father failing to turn up was hugely damaging. On top of that, it was almost ninety minutes in the car each way, and Merle and Daryl often came back physically and emotionally drained. They both acted as though they didn’t care about their father’s constant rejection, but Merle always came home with an attitude and Daryl would often nibble at his lip until it bled on those days. 

“Alright. Well, I’ll see you when you get back.” He replaced the phone on the receiver, rubbing at his aching temples with his fingertips. 

“Not again,” Michonne groaned when she saw his face. “I know you should never speak ill of a parent, but-”

“I know. He breaks their hearts all over again, by doing this. Means he’s still in control of them even if they don’t live with him anymore, so they can’t start to move on from what they’ve been through in the past.”

“They really need to start counselling soon. Carol said they’re still waiting to see if the boys will confide in us, but I’m not sure they’ll be able to do that until they’ve had some therapy. We’re caught between a rock and a hard place, here.” She ran a hand through Rick’s curls, tucking a lock of his hair behind one ear. “Maybe we should push for it a little harder.”

“Yeah,” he sighed. “I can’t see either of them opening up about it any time soon. Hey, why don’t we take ‘em to the movies or something this afternoon? Might be a good distraction. We can order take-out for dinner, maybe play a board game or something.”

* * *

Sunday was quiet. Merle was spending an increasing amount of time out with his friends from school, and with Carl at Lori’s the house was unusually placid. Rick had noticed that the teenager seemed to be slowly pulling away from his little brother. He was less willing to indulge Daryl, often short-tempered and irritable with him. The ten-year-old didn’t seem to know what to do with himself without his brother around, so Rick often found himself with a small shadow during the times Merle was out.

"Here, sweetie" Michonne gently drew the ten-year-old away after Rick almost tripped over him for the fifth time that day. "Come and help me and Judith make our family out of playdoh." Although it was an activity for a much younger child, kids who had been neglected often missed out on basic play. Maggie had once told them that even teenagers might find the squishy texture of playdoh therapeutic- although it wasn't something they'd suggested to Merle yet. Daryl sat, the tip of his tongue poking through his teeth as he concentrated on his work, while Judith squashed blobs of clay together in a passing imitation of a human.

"Mama!" She cried, holding out an amorphous blob of green clay.

"Is that me? Good job, baby girl." Daryl set his own creation next to Judith's.

"It's a mini-Merle! Trust you to create art out of playdoh." Rick was supposed to be doing paperwork, but he found it impossible to take his eyes from the crafting session. Judith picked up the Merle figure, inspecting it closely. 

"Mer, Mer." She babbled, having not quite wrapped her tongue around the word yet. She clapped her hands together, flattening the model.

"Judith!" Michonne prised their daughter's hands apart, but all that remained was a swirl of squished colours. Rick looked to Daryl, thinking he might be upset. Instead, he only smiled and got to work on another figure. It was bigger and broader than Merle, with tiny beige hands molded into fists. Rick watched him hand it to Judith, who promptly crushed his offering with a gleeful giggle.

* * *

Rick paced the length of the hallway. He could hear the creaking of floorboards above him, and imagined Daryl doing the same in his bedroom. Their anxiety was shared, the root cause the same: Merle. It was an hour past midnight already, and the teenager hadn’t been home since morning. The cheap cell phone they’d bought him was switched off, and he still didn’t have a house key because Rick and Michonne couldn’t be sure they could trust him with one. They’d been right, it seemed.  
He’d told his wife to go to bed once eleven had come and gone, but he couldn’t imagine she was doing much sleeping. After a while, he heard her pad across the landing and the faint knock as she went to Daryl. He hoped she could comfort him and get the kid to sleep, or he’d be exhausted for school in the morning.

“C’mon, Merle.” He muttered. The teenager had been making a habit of breaking curfew in the past few weeks, but he’d usually always be back by now. They’d had to address the possibility that he was trying to get back home again, but the duty social worker covering the twenty-four-hour line advised them to wait a little longer before they contacted the police. Rick couldn’t wait anymore. Just as he was dialling, there was a crash from outside, followed with a curse. He opened the door before Merle could pound on it, his expression grim. 

“Hey, s’Rick!” The teenager staggered inside the house, a glazed smile lifting the corners of his mouth. “Whatcha doin’ up at this time, huh?”

“Waiting for you,” Rick hissed as he closed the door. “What do you think you’re playing at?” Merle swayed on the spot, trying to kick off his boots without unpicking the laces. Rick sighed heavily and leaned down to help. “You’re drunk.”

“Am not,” Merle hiccuped. “Jus’ been havin some fun is all.” Footsteps pattered along the hall behind them, and Daryl appeared with Michonne at his heels. 

“At least he’s home.” She said tiredly. “Come on honey, maybe we should let Rick deal with your brother.”

“Daryl! C’mere, lil’ bro!” Merle reached out to grab at his brother, yanking him close with more force than needed. Daryl seemed to have the breath knocked out of him as Merle clutched him tightly. After a moment, he started trying to wriggle away.

“Merle, let go of Daryl.” Michonne said firmly.

“Nah,” Merle only clung tighter, forcing a small squeak from Daryl’s lungs. “S’my brother, ‘nd I’m keepin’ him.”

“Let go, you’re hurting him.” Rick tugged at one of the teenager’s arms, and Daryl sprang back. He spared another unnerved glance at his brother before he scuttled away back upstairs. 

“We’ll have to put him in Carl’s room tonight, so he doesn’t try suffocating Daryl again.” Rick hoisted Merle’s arm around his shoulders, and they walked him arduously upstairs to Carl’s bedroom. Michonne placed a bucket by the side of the bed, and they both crossed their fingers that Merle wouldn’t puke on anything Carl loved. The teenager was asleep and snoring within moments. Rick crossed to Daryl’s room, tapping lightly on the door. “You alright?” He asked softly. Daryl gave a small nod, sitting upright in bed and still looking a little ruffled. “I’m sorry, I think he just got a little carried away with his affections.” Rick held up his pinkie, and they touched tips. “I know it’s late, but how about a few pages of _Icemark_ before we turn in?” Daryl nodded again, much more eagerly this time, and slid down in bed as Rick sat opposite. Princess Thirrin and her new friend Oskan the Warlock had just reached The Icesheets, home of the giant snow leopard. Daryl gave a small smile as the Princess chopped off the whiskers of the second-in-command. When his eyes fluttered shut, Rick put the book on the nightstand and got to his feet. He tenderly swept a lock of hair from Daryl’s cheek, and left him to sleep.

* * *

"Holy shit." Merle groaned as he stumbled towards the breakfast bar. A stagnant odour of stale alcohol and sweat filled the air as he collapsed into a chair.

"Language." Michonne chided sharply, setting a bowl of porridge and honey in front of Judith. She dipped her spoon into the mixture and sucked on it contentedly, while Daryl poked unenthusiastically at his cornflakes. 

"Whatever." Rick shot Merle a look, and the teenager glared right back through bloodshot eyes.

"You need to get a move on, or we'll be late for school." 

"Hell am I goin' to that shithole today." Rick ignored him and drained his second cup of coffee, tickling Judith's sticky chin with his spare hand. Her laughter earned him a spray of half-chewed porridge right down the front of his shirt.  
  
  
"This is not a debate. You are going to school today. It's your own fault if you're hungover." Rick was glad Michonne had already left with Daryl- at least one of the boys would be at school on time. 

"Or what?" Merle's eyes were alight with anger.

"Or you won't be going out with your friends for the rest of the week." The teenager squared up to him, fists contracted and ready to spring. Rick kept his stance neutral, but held his ground.

"Oh yeah? And what are you gonna do to stop me? I'd kick your ass, old man."

"Even if you could, would you really want to fight me with Daryl in the house? With Carl and Judith here?"

"They ain't here now." Merle growled. "And don't bring my brother into this." 

"The way you behave affects him too, Merle. It affects all of us. Don't you think the kids deserve to live without having to tiptoe around you? You're not a bad person, so quit trying to pretend like you are." The teenager's fists twitched, and for a moment Rick expected a punch to the face. He took a step backwards, putting some distance between them. "You're right; I can't force you to go to school."

"Pussy." Merle hissed, but some of the fight had left his eyes.

"I want better for both you and Daryl, and that's never gonna happen if you don't put in some of the work yourself. Things don't always have to be bad, Merle. It's okay for you to want a good life, a happy one." Rick's words were met with a snort of derision. 

"Ain't no such thing. At least, not for a Dixon."

"I hope you don't really believe that. How will you ever know if you don't give it a fair go?" Rick sighed. "Look, if you won't do it for yourself, then _please_ just give it a try for Daryl's sake."

"Fine." Merle muttered. "You givin' me a ride or what?"

* * *

If Rick’s pleas had made any impression on Merle, it didn't last long. Ten rocky days later, the principal of Grady High School phoned to inform them that he was being excluded for two weeks. It transpired that Merle had tried to take a swing at his English Lit teacher. Rick privately thought he was lucky not to be expelled.

Merle stomped upstairs the minute they got home. Michonne made coffee.

"You okay?" She touched his arm affectionately. 

"I don't know. I guess I'm just starting to have doubts about all this."

"About us being able to help the boys?" She asked. One of the things he loved most about his wife was the way she understood him without the need for words, but was always there to listen and reassure him when insecurity crept in.

"Yeah. Well, Merle especially. It's been nearly three months, and he's only getting worse. We're all walking on eggshells and it's not fair on the others."

"I know things could be better at the moment, but that doesn't mean they won't ever be. Three months isn't long when you compare it to fifteen years, Rick.”

“Oh I know that. But do you ever wander about how much damage is just too much? I guess I’m just worried that we’re putting our family through the mill for nothing, that we won’t be able to make a difference for him. If someone else -someone more experienced- could set him on the straight and narrow, wouldn’t it be better to move them sooner rather than later?” Even as he said the words, he knew he could never do it. Michonne knew it too. They were distracted by a creaking sound behind them, but no one was in the hall when Rick checked. Probably just the house settling.

“They just need some stability. Maybe Merle needs to test us, make sure that we aren’t going to resort to violence no matter what he does.” Rick kissed her on the forehead.

“Yeah, maybe.”

“All we can do is what any parent can. We just have to do our best.”

* * *

The rest of the day passed in frosty silence, and Rick was glad to be able to put Judith and Daryl to bed that night. 

"Rick?" He turned to see Merle hovering in the doorway.

"Quiet," he mouthed. "Daryl's asleep." He followed Merle into the hallway, where the teenager stood shuffling a deck of cards.

"Can we play?" Rick was on the point of telling him 'no', that he was far too tired from last night's antics to concentrate on a card game- but the almost anxious look on Merle's face stopped him.

"Alright. Just one game, though." 

They played Gin Rummy instead of Cheat, because Michonne was already in bed.

“You got him to sleep.” It was a statement rather than a question. Rick set his cards down, watching Merle pick at his fingernails.

“I think he was tired, after last night.” A tense moment passed, before the teenager mumbled a word that could have been ‘sorry’. “We’ve been reading a book he likes too, which always helps him drop off. I guess the sound of my voice just sends him to sleep.” He said, feebly trying to inject a little humour into the conversation. 

“Hm. Guess so.” A few more minutes passed as they collected cards and discarded others. “You wouldn’t give up on him ‘cause of me, wouldya?” Merle asked in a rush. Rick met his gaze, wondering if the creaking noise earlier had been him after all.

“No. We won’t give up on either of you.”

“You promise?” The question was so atypically childish that some of Rick’s frustration towards Merle faded away.

“Yeah. I promise.”  
  
  
Rick fell asleep almost the instant his head touched the pillow, but felt as though he hadn’t regained even an ounce of energy when someone was shaking him awake a few hours later. 

“What’sa matter?” He asked dazedly. “Daryl? What’s wrong?” The small figure standing next to the bed was pale and trembling. Rick realised with a jolt that he was crying. He’d seen Daryl with red eyes before, but he’d never shed a single tear in front of him or Michonne. “Buddy what is it? Did you have a nightmare?” Daryl held out a scrap of paper with shaking hands. Rick leaned over to switch his lamp on, and the boy winced at the light. 

“Rick?” Michonne sat up, rubbing her eyes. “Daryl? Oh honey, you’re shaking.” She pulled the comforter from the foot of their bed and wrapped it around Daryl’s shoulders. It was a soft red blanket, the one that Rick said they didn’t need but she had insisted would come in handy one day.

“Oh, no.” Rick whispered. 

“What is it?” He thrust the note at Michonne, already sliding his legs out of bed. 

“You stay here with Michonne, okay?” He told Daryl. He paused to brush away the stream of tears running down his cheeks with his thumb, then rushed downstairs. His cell was on the coffee table where he’d left it, the car keys were in his jacket pocket. He was out the door in thirty seconds, and speaking to that night’s duty social worker within two minutes.

“ _And you’re sure he’s run away? He couldn’t be hidden away somewhere at home?_ ” Rick knew that if the police came, they would insist on searching the house. Some kids liked to cause drama by simply pretending to run away, when they’re actually hidden in a wardrobe or under a bed.

“I’m sure. He’s probably trying to get back to his father’s house, he’s done it before. Last time he was picked up trying to hitchhike.” Rick flicked his headlights on full, determined to be able to see every inch of the darkness around him. 

“ _Don’t worry Mr. Grimes, I’m sure the police will find him. I’ll file a report now, and they’ll be with you as soon as they can_.” Rick rolled his eyes at that. In his experience, a troubled teenager missing from their foster home was never the top priority of their local PD. He hung up, turning down a narrow street and scanning the neighbourhood for any sign of Merle. Without knowing exactly when the teenager had left the house, it was hard to know how far he could have travelled. Rick had been asleep by half ten, and five hours had since passed. You could go a long way in that time, if you were determined enough.  
  
  
Rick’s fingers felt as though they had fused to the steering wheel by the time he pulled into the driveway. Daryl greeted him at the door, ashen face falling when he realised that Merle wasn’t with him.

“I’m sorry, bud.” Rick reached out for him, but Daryl turned and fled before he could make contact. 

“The police only just left.” Michonne told him, whey-faced with exhaustion. “They’re going to get on to the local station where their father lives and ask them to make a house call, and keep an eye out on the major highways in case he tries to catch a lift again.”

“I don’t think he will. He got caught that way once, I’d bet money that he won’t go that route again.” Rick ran his hands through his hair. “How’s Daryl been?”

“Very upset. Hasn’t left my side until now, and he couldn’t stop biting at his fingers. I think we’d better keep him off school today.” Michonne pulled the crumpled note from her pocket and smoothed it out on the counter. Three words, and a letter.  
  
 _I’m sorry, brother._  
 _  
_\- M


	7. Castles

"Thank you all for coming. I believe there's been quite a few developments since the last review?" Jacqui looked expectantly at Carol.

"Unfortunately so. Merle ran away from the foster placement over two weeks ago, and no one's seen him since. Officers have called in on his father’s house several times, but Mr. Dixon insists that he hasn’t seen his son, and there’s been nothing to suggest that Merle’s living there.”

“Did anything happen that might have triggered this?” Rick explained the events leading up to Merle’s disappearance. The drinking, staying out late, and asking them not to give up on Daryl.

“I know he can take care of himself, but we’re all so worried.” None of them had slept well in the past fortnight. The atmosphere was so tense and dour that Rick had even asked Lori to have Carl for longer than usual, so he at least could be spared the ambience.

“It must be such a difficult time for you all. How’s Daryl coping?” Jacqui asked, head tilted to one side.

“Not well. He’s not sleeping much, eating even less and he’s very anxious. The only good thing is that he’s turning to us for comfort more.” Michonne replied. “We’re trying to help him through it, but the uncertainty is preying on all our minds and it’s hard to reassure him when we don’t know what’s going to happen ourselves.” 

“I can imagine. Is he still seeing his father?”

“No,” Carol replied, peeling the label from her bottled water. “Mr. Dixon attended the first session, but after four more failed attempts the judge agreed we could cancel contact for the time being. It was doing more harm than good. The father’s trying to fight it, but it’s unlikely it’ll be reinstated.”

“And the potential court case?”

“The police still aren’t sure they have enough to prosecute. They’ll keep the case open, but without testimony from Merle or Daryl they won’t charge the father.” 

“Ridiculous,” Jacqui muttered under her breath. “We talked about therapy last time. Since it doesn’t look as though a court case will happen anytime soon, is it time to consider referring Daryl?”

“We actually wanted to mention that,” Rick put in before Carol could speak, gesturing to Michonne and himself. “Daryl saw a speech therapist a few days ago, but she said that there’s not really a lot they can do without addressing the root cause. He needs counselling to be able to move on, especially with his communication. The sooner the better.” They all looked to Carol.

“I agree. I’ll talk to my manager again, and try to get the ball rolling.”

“We thought art therapy might be helpful.” Michonne suggested. “He still spends a lot of time drawing and painting.” Jacqui nodded in agreement. 

“Anything else?” She asked the social worker.

“No, I think that’s it.” They talked more about how Daryl was coping at home and school, with input from Sasha and Rosita. Milton hadn't been invited this time around, since Merle was no longer in placement. When Rick and Michonne were asked if they would still be happy to have Daryl long-term, they agreed without hesitation.

Jacqui rounded off the meeting by saying she hoped things would have improved by the next time they met. It was a feeling they all shared.  
  
  
Daryl woke screaming that night. He was still half-asleep when Michonne hurtled into the room with Rick right behind her, staring around with eyes goggling and chest heaving. His cheeks were wet, as though he’d been crying in his sleep. Rick felt his pounding heart begin to quieten as he took a slow step towards the bed.

“Hey, are you awake?” He asked softly. Daryl’s eyes focused on him, and he nodded. “Were you having a nightmare?” Nod. Rick knelt on the floor beside him. If it were Carl he would have sat on the bed, but foster carers were advised not to do this with their placements in case the child associated it with traumatic memories. “Was it about your life before you came to live with us?” Another nod. Rick wished he could read the story obscured behind those eyes, and spare Daryl having to tell them a single word. 

“You’re safe,” Michonne sat close to Rick, and took the kid’s hand. He didn’t pull away. “You’re safe here with us. No one’s going to hurt you.” 

They sat together until Daryl went back to sleep, with Michonne still clasping his hand.

* * *

Days turned to weeks, weeks turned to months. Five months since the siblings had first come into care, two since Merle had left. No news came, but they were at last adjusting to the new normal. Daryl was finally on the waiting list for therapy, and Rick felt it couldn’t come soon enough. He was desperate to hear the silent child’s voice, listen to his laughter, understand him better.   
The affection between them was increasing in miniscule measures, and Daryl was becoming a little more confident in not having his brother around. Rick was sure he missed Merle with an ache, but he was at least coping. He indulged Carl in his games and helped make dinner and set the table, but there was something mechanical in his actions that made Rick feel as though he was trying to behave how he thought they wanted him to. He wanted Daryl to be his own person, not a reflection of others.   
  
“What do you fancy for lunch, huh? How about PB&J?” Rick asked as he and Judith returned home from her morning session at preschool. “Or I think mommy bought tuna at the supermarket yesterday?”

“Jelly!” Judith yelled. Rick made her sandwich, and she smeared most of it on her face during the process of eating. While she was distracted, he listened to the message left on his machine, timed right after he’d left for the preschool.

“Damnit.” He whispered as Rosita’s voice filled the entrance hall.

“... _been a situation here, would you mind coming to pick Daryl up? We’ll meet you in reception_.” Rick headed back to the kitchen. 

“Afraid we’ll have to wrap that up to go, sweetheart. We gotta go get Daryl.”

“Darl?” Judith asked, pronouncing his name as she always did.   
  
“Sorry it took us so long, Rosita.” Rick apologised as he pushed Judith’s stroller through the double doors to reception. “I was just picking up-” he paused at the sight of Daryl’s angry face, his torn sweater and scuffed knees. “What’s happened?” He’d assumed that Daryl had been having a panic attack or something, but this was clearly not the case.” Rosita looked down at her charge, then beckoned Rick to one side.

“We’re not exactly sure what started it,” she told him in a low voice. “But Daryl and a boy in the year above were caught fighting during lunch. Apparently he was really laying into this kid before the janitor managed to pull him off.” Rick closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. “I’m afraid they’ve both been suspended for the rest of the day, and the principal wants to see you both before Daryl goes back to class tomorrow morning. I’m sorry I wasn’t there to intervene, but the girl I sometimes sit with in class had a tough morning.”

“It’s me that should apologise. I’m real sorry this happened. He’s not usually a violent kid, so I didn’t see this coming."

“Me neither. I was shocked when I found out.” She turned to Daryl, placing a hand on his shoulder. He shrugged her away. “I’ll see you tomorrow then, kiddo.” Rick thanked her, and they left the school together.

"What happened, Daryl?" He asked with a sigh, knowing he wouldn't receive an answer.   
  
  
"Go sit at the table and do your homework. Once you're finished you can read until three-fifteen." Rick didn't know what to say to Daryl as he slammed his books on the table and kicked the chair. 

In the end he left him to his work, keeping busy with chores until school officially ended for the day. "You alright?" He asked, placing a plate of cheese squares and apple sticks at Daryl’s side. The kid looked up at him, all trace of the anger gone. Rick took a piece of cheese and apple, wedged them together and took a bite. Daryl copied robotically. "I wish you could tell me what happened. It's okay that you don't wanna talk yet, but I hope you know that we want to hear what you've got to say." Rick was distracted by the cell buzzing inside his pocket. 

" _Rick, it's me._ "

"Lori?" His stomach dropped, stone heavy. "What's wrong? Is Carl okay?"

" _He's fine. Well, he's upset. All I could get out of him was that it's something that happened at school, and he wants to talk to you._ "

"School? Alright, put him on." He heard muted voices on the end of the line, and then a sniff. "Carl? What's wrong buddy?"

" _S'about Daryl,_ " came his son’s tiny voice. " _The fight he had with Gage Miller at lunch._ " Rick glanced at Daryl, busy nibbling at his thumb.

"You were there?"

" _Y_ _eah, and I tried to tell everyone_ _what happened and no one listened and it wasn't his fault, dad._ " Carl gabbled without drawing breath.

"Okay, slow down. I'm listening, so tell me what happened."

" _Gage keeps making fun of me and my friends at recess, trying to trip us and mess up our games and stuff. He pushed me over today because I called him a loser. I thought he was gonna beat me up, but then Daryl ran over and beat Gage up. So it wasn't his fault, it was mine! Don't be mad at him dad._ "

"Calm down, Carl. I'm not mad at anybody. I'm just glad I know the truth." He turned to Daryl again, now watching him silently. "Don’t worry, everything will be alright. Put it out of your mind, and I'll see you tomorrow after school." They said goodbye. Daryl continued to stare through his fringe. "Carl says you were only fighting because that kid was bullying him. Is that true?" There was a pause before Daryl nodded. Rick let out a deep breath. "Alright, that's it," he said, clapping his hands together. "Get your shoes, we're going for ice cream." The blue eyes crinkled in surprise, and Rick grinned.  
  
  
"Now I wanna make this clear: this is _not_ a reward for fighting. That's still not okay." Rick said sternly over giant sundaes complete with cherry topping. "This is because you stepped in to defend someone you care about. Are we clear?" Daryl nodded, smiling shyly as he licked whipped cream from his spoon. "Good. Now, when Michonne asks later why we're too full for dinner, it's because we filled up on broccoli. Got it?" Daryl's smile widened. They touched pinkies, and got down to the serious business of sundae demolition.

* * *

"He's had a really good week," Rosita beamed when Rick collected Daryl and Carl from school the following Friday. "We've been working on a space project for science class, and Daryl's really into it. You wanna show Rick what you made, handsome?" Daryl blushed as he carefully unfurled a sheet of paper and passed it to Rick. 

"Oh, wow," he said softly, taking in the inky blue background spotted with tiny stars and bright-tailed meteors. The image of a perfect night's sky. Carl leaned over his arm and made appreciative noises. "You did this all yourself?" Daryl nodded, red to his roots and bouncing on the balls of his feet. He'd printed 'meteor shower’ in wobbly letters on the back of the painting. 

"It's good, isn't it?" Rosita patted her student on the back. "Usually Daryl prefers to leave his artwork at school, but he worked so hard on this that we both thought he should take it home to show you all."

"I'm glad you did. It's wonderful, Daryl."   
  
  
"What about putting a turret here? It could be a tower for our court wizard." Carl suggested, scooping up the cardboard insert from a roll of paper towels and stacking it on the roof of their castle.

"Yeah." Daryl agreed quietly. He looked nervously at the bedroom door, slightly ajar. Carl could tell he was worried that his stepmom and dad might hear. He didn't understand why Daryl was so afraid to talk to them, but their private conversations made him feel special- even if they were mostly one-sided. 

"He can keep all his books and scrolls and stuff in it." Carl picked up his figurine of a man with a long beard and pointed hat, pretending to shoot fireballs at one of his stuffed animals. Daryl smiled, and lifted up the piece of cardboard he was drawing on.

"Bricks. For the walls." They were neatly printed, but with a crooked medieval air, complete with patches of moss and discoloured stone.

"That's awesome." Carl had noticed before that Daryl always blushed when someone paid him a compliment. 

"Thanks." They got started on the moat next, filling in vast stretches of paper with blue. Daryl showed him where to leave patches of white to show where the light reflected off the water, and they added lilypads and a family of frogs.

"How come you don't talk to my mom and dad?" Carl asked, trying to sound casual. Daryl's knuckles were white on his marker, pressing on the paper hard enough to leave indentations.

"Don't like the questions." Blue eyes meet his in a flicker. Carl was eight now, old enough to take a hint when he heard one.

"I heard dad say it's your birthday soon." He said, trying to steer the conversation to something that might make his friend smile again.

"So?" 

"Aren't you excited?" Daryl shrugged. "I bet they'll get you a really cool present."

"Nah." 

"Why not? Remember my birthday? I had a party and mom and dad got me those rollerblades and the robotics kit?"

"Yeah, well. You're their kid. They love you." 

"They love you too, Daryl. Didn't you know that?"

"Nah." Daryl’s head bowed so low that only the tips of his ears were visible. "S'there job to look after me, but they don't love me. That's what Merle said. And Greg Fairbanks in my class says they're paid to give a shit." Carl giggled nervously at the swear.

"No, they really do care. I can tell. Besides, I bet Greg doesn’t know what he’s talking about. His little brother Josh is in my class and he’s dumber than a rock." Daryl squinted at him, looking unsure.

"C'mon, let's build a kennel next, for all the royal hounds."

* * *

"Dad, what are we doing for Daryl's birthday? Are you getting him presents like you get me and Judith?" Carl asked later, when he knew he couldn't be overheard by anyone other than his stepmom.

"Of course! You don't turn eleven every day. Why, have you got any ideas?" Carl's shoulders visibly relaxed.

"I'll think on it," he said in a wordly wise sort of way. "But are we having a party?"

"We're not sure Daryl would enjoy the same kind of party like you had." Michonne told him, messing his hair as she passed with a basket of laundry. "What do you think?" Carl tapped a finger against his chin as he considered this.

"I think you're right." He paused, listening out for any sign that Daryl was done with his bath. "But what will we do instead?"

"We've been thinking hard about it, but there hasn't been anything quite special enough yet. Don't worry, we'll come up with something great."   
  
  
Getting ready for bed, Carl thought about how Daryl had said that his and Merle's dad would sometimes take them on camping trips to the woods.

"Like a holiday?" He had asked.

"Nah," came Daryl's reply. "Like survivn'. Used to like lookin' at the stars though. Makes you feel free." 

He wriggled in-between the soft sheets, pushing his duvet around his midriff so his dad and Michonne could tuck him in properly when they came to read him a bedtime story. When his father reached down to kiss his forehead, Carl wrapped his arms around his neck. 

"We should go camping." He whispered in his dad's ear. "A camping trip where we play games and tell ghost stories and have smores."

"That's a great idea, Carl." The stubble tickled his cheek and made him giggle. "You're definitely the smart one in the family."

They asked Daryl what he thought the next day, sitting around the table eating cookies the boys had made together. 

"Why can't it be a surprise?" Carl had asked. Rick explained that surprises wouldn't necessarily be a positive thing if all you'd ever had were bad ones.

"We'll go for the weekend, all of us. You, me, Michonne, Carl, and Judith. We'll go for walks and cook hotdogs over a fire, and have lots of fun. We'll stay in a tent for two nights, and then we'll all come home on Sunday." Daryl looked confused. He peeked at each of them in turn, eyes lingering on Carl.

"Would that be okay sweetie?" Michonne asked, pulling the plate of cookies away before Judith could frisbee it to the floor. "You can say if it's not, we won't be offended. Daryl pulled his sleeves over his hands, still a little perplexed, and nodded. Rick squeezed his shoulder

"We'll have a great time, just you wait and see."


	8. Existential

Michonne felt utterly content. Sitting in the entrance of the tent with one eye on Judith, she watched as Carl and Rick played chequers in the fading daylight, their faces illuminated by the glowing flames of their campfire. Daryl sat close by, using the flickering blaze to see the pages of the new sketchbook Rosita had given him for his birthday along with a set of pencils and pens. 

His other presents were waiting for him back at home; a book about space from Carol, lego from Maggie, a metal motorcycle construction kit from Carl and a brand new bike from Rick and Michonne. When they'd first wheeled it out to him, Daryl had looked as though he might burst into tears, face buried in his hands. 

She couldn't see what he was busy drawing, but his expression was the most relaxed she'd ever seen him. 

"I win! Are you playing next, Daryl? You can play dad if you want, he's really easy to beat." Carl teased, giving his defeated father a playful poke in the chest. 

"Hey, you watch your mouth!" Rick laughed, pretending to bat Carl's hand away.   
  
  
They were all up early on Saturday morning, woken by the light spilling through the canvas walls of the tent and the chorus of birdsong all around. Daryl seemed pleased when Michonne suggested they go for an adventure in the woods, and ran after Carl holding Judith's hand.

"Feels right, don't it?" Rick walked with an arm around his wife's shoulder, breathing in the fresh air sweetly scented with tree sap.

"It is right," Michonne reached up to squeeze his hand. "He's becoming a part of our family more every day. Carl and Judith love him." She paused. " _ I  _ love him. I know it's only been six months, but there's something about Daryl that just makes you want to nurture him."

"I know what you mean." Rick watched as the boys helped Judith clamber onto a tree stump, circling her like a pair of small bodyguards. "It breaks my heart that he's been treated so badly for so long, but having him with us just feels like it was meant to happen this way." They all loved him, he realised. With some foster children, particularly the young ones, a bond grows quickly. For others, love is something that swells slowly within you. It comes in the small things; being up with them at night when they're sick, shared smiles and laughter, wiping away their tears. It comes as a smoldering coal in your chest, gently fanned and protected until it sets to glowing in your heart.

They got turned around a few times chasing their overzealous toddler through the winding trees, and by the time the kids had collapsed in a giggling heap, Rick wasn't at all sure how to get back to camp. 

"I think it's this way." 

"Are you sure?" Michonne sounded skeptical. Daryl jumped to his feet, shaking his head and pointing in the opposite direction to where Rick wanted them to go.

"I think Daryl knows more about this stuff than you, dad." Carl grinned, still lying on the leaf-strewn ground with his sister. That turned out to be true. Daryl led them straight back to their tent, and blushed when they all told him how clever it was.  
  
It was the rare kind of day you knew you'd remember for always. They played Catch the Flag and rolled down sloping hills, trekked to the on-site restaurant for giant portions of burger and fries, and toasted marshmallows over the campfire. They lit eleven candles on a mountainous chocolate cake and all ate far too much of it. Rick earned an eyeroll from Michonne for his terrible shadow puppets, and when Carl said with a yawn that it had been the 'best day ever', Daryl nodded fervently.  
  
There was one more thing Rick had planned however, which he wanted to share with Daryl alone. He gently shook the now eleven-year-old awake, leading him by the hand into the darkness outside.

"Here, put your shoes on. There's something I wanna show you." Rick helped him shrug his jacket on, and they walked towards the night. "Look," he murmured when they reached the top of one of the surrounding hills. "Did you see that?" The moon was reflected in Daryl's eyes, wide as orbs. Silence filled the spaces around them.

Rick couldn't deny that the timing could not have been more perfect. The debris from Halley's Comet that resulted in the Orionid meteor shower passed them by once a year, and they just happened to be best viewed the weekend of Daryl's birthday. "It's as beautiful as your painting." They watched for a long time, rewarded periodically as a tiny light burst across the sky. Daryl couldn't take his eyes from the meteors hurtling through the silver speckled canvas above them. Rick couldn't take his eyes from Daryl. "Maybe we can come back next year, if you're still with us then. I hope you will be." They looked at each other, and Rick felt almost as if a moment of understanding had passed between them. It took him completely by surprise when Daryl flew at him, wrapping his skinny arms tight around Rick's middle. He recovered quickly, running a hand through Daryl's soft wavy hair and rubbing his back. 

As they walked back to the camp together, Rick wondered if he'd ever shared a hug like that with his own father. Maybe this was a first for Daryl. It wouldn't be the last.

* * *

"Hey, Rick?" Michonne called softly through the open bathroom door. "Have you seen this?" He dried his face on his towel.

'What is it?"

"I found it on our bed. Here, take it." It was another piece of Daryl's artwork, he realised. A bright bonfire in orange and yellow, with a family grouped around it.

"It's us?" 

"Yeah. And look," Michonne pointed to a small figure drawn hunched over, hair hiding his face. "He's drawn himself drawing us. Isn't it gorgeous? I keep thinking about that painting with the shadow Rosita showed us at the first review, and how different this is." Rick couldn't speak for the tight lump in his throat. He was looking at the corner of the portrait. Where some people would sign their name, two tiny words had been printed. 

_ Thank you. _

* * *

Daryl liked the art part of art therapy, but he hadn't proved so keen on the therapy part. His first appointment had finally come through in the week after they returned from their camping trip, and he'd been several times since. The paintings and clay models had to stay at the therapist's office, but Daryl wouldn't have wanted to take them home anyway. When he was feeling amiable, he would follow the instructions to paint how he felt about his father and Merle and not living at home. The resulting clashes of black, grey and deep red made him feel uncomfortable to look at. Mostly, Daryl painted planets and stars because that’s what he wanted to paint. The therapist would sigh and say that she didn't think he was trying hard enough. It wasn't that he didn't like Amy, but he didn't want to think about his old life anymore, and it was hard to see why everyone seemed so intent on him doing just that. 

“I know you don’t like being asked about your dad, sweetheart.” Rick said on the way home one week. “It’s hard having to put yourself out there, but sometimes it’s the only way we can heal. You don’t have to keep it all shut up inside you, or let it all out at once. Just a little bit at a time. Like how you make friends with someone, right?” Daryl scowled, and Rick conceded that this might not have been the best analogy to use. He was finding school easier to cope with now, but the other kids still avoided him whenever possible. Rosita tried to include him, but she was now splitting her time between three children all with different behavioural issues. “Like how you made friends with Carl.” Rick tried again, glancing at Daryl in the rearview mirror. “You didn’t start out like that, it came over time. Maybe that’s how it’s gotta be with your feelings, too.” The irritable puff of air behind him told Rick that it might be best to just leave it at that.   
  
When Carol called in mid November and asked if she could come by for a visit, Rick assumed it was just for one of her regular catch-ups. Michonne had already laid a tray of cups and a pot of coffee for three when the social worker arrived.

“Maggie? This is a nice surprise.” Rick’s smile faded when he opened the door and saw the young woman’s serious expression. Carol’s face was equally sober as they stepped inside. “What’s the matter?” He automatically held an arm out to take their coats. “Is it Merle? Has he been found?”

“It’s not about Merle.” Maggie touched his arm. “Can we sit down, Rick?” Michonne’s look echoed his own concern.

“Of course, come on through. Should I get Daryl? He’s upstairs with Carl.”

“No,” Carol said, sounding unusually dejected. “Not right now.” They sat, and Michonne poured coffee.

“So? What’s happened?” 

“I’m afraid I have news that might be upsetting, so I asked Maggie here to provide some support.” Carol took a deep breath. “Daryl’s uncle has stepped forward to be assessed as a long-term carer for him.” It took a moment for the news to sink in.

“Uncle? What uncle?” 

“Will’s brother, Jesse. I didn’t mention it sooner because I was sure he wouldn’t get past the parenting assessment, but,” the social worker sighed heavily. “I’m afraid he was approved a couple of days ago.” A shocked silence followed.

“This doesn’t mean he will get custody of Daryl. That’s up to the judge to decide at the final court hearing, so he or she might decide that he should stay here.” Maggie told them consolingly. She turned to Carol. “Do you know what the department’s leaning towards?” The social worker looked uncomfortable.

“I had a meeting with my manager today. Believe me, I put my two cents in loud and clear, told her I thought it would be a mistake to move Daryl on at this point. But she feels that kinship care might be the better choice here.” Rick felt as though the couch had vanished beneath him.

“Why? You’ve never even mentioned the uncle before today. Neither did Merle, in the three months he was with us.” Michonne looked bewildered, reaching out to clutch Rick’s hand.

“It’s usually considered the next best thing, if a child’s parent can’t look after them.”

“Plus it’s cheaper.” Maggie said bluntly, her eyes narrowing. Carol threw up her hands, looking as upset as any of them.

“Yes, it’s cheaper. Social services won’t have to pay the agency fee, plus it frees up your bedroom for another placement. But that’s not the only reason, and it’s definitely not the one they’ll give the judge.”

“So this is about the needs of the many versus the few?” Rick tried to temper the sharp edges in his voice, not wanting to be overheard by the kids. “What’s this uncle even like, then? Why’s it taken him seven months to come forward to look after Daryl?”

“He says he didn’t know the boys had been removed from their father. Apparently they don’t get on, and Jesse hasn’t seen Will in over eighteen months. He lives in a small cabin about halfway between here and his brother’s house and has a spare bedroom. One of my colleagues has been dealing with his application, and she says he seems really eager to have Daryl live with him.” It felt as though Rick’s chest were slowly deflating. 

“And he understands about Daryl’s issues?” Michonne asked quietly, her eyes bright. Carol nodded sympathetically.

“Yes, and that there’s a possibility more problems may crop up in the future. He’s supposedly not phased by it, just says that Daryl needs to be with family.” Rick looked at his wife, and knew they were thinking the same thing. Daryl already  _ had  _ a family.

“Are you going to ask what he thinks about all this?” Maggie asked, flicking her eyes to the ceiling.

“Of course. I know he still isn’t verbal, but we’ll ask him how he feels about it. The final hearing isn’t until February, so I think it would be best to wait for the new year before we bring it up. Less time for uncertainty.”

“That’s something, I guess.” Rick squeezed Michonne’s hand, trying to swallow the rising emotion. “I think we all just got used to the idea that he’d be staying for good.”

“I know,” Carol’s shoulders drooped despondently. “I really am sorry. For what it’s worth, I think you’d be a wonderful long-term family for Daryl. Sometimes I hate doing this job.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're halfway! I'm sorry I haven't replied to any of your lovely comments from the last chapter. I really appreciate all of them, but it's been a hard week and I've been a little down.   
> Thanks for reading!


	9. Season of Goodwill and Bad News

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not quite Tuesday where I live yet, but I've got another long day at work tomorrow and I figured better a few hours early than a day late. I hope you enjoy, and thanks for reading.

It was that time of year again. The same songs played on an endless loop, the shops turned festively red and green, and rising excitement was in the air. Determined to give Daryl the best Christmas they possibly could, Rick and Michonne decorated the house early in December while the boys were at school and watched their faces light up on their return. They hoped all their kids would have a great time, but it seemed particularly important for Daryl. It wasn’t likely that Santa Claus had ever visited his house growing up, as was the case for many neglected children.   
Michonne led Judith through first, waving her chubby fists around and revelling in the glowing lights and bright colours. There were Christmas decorations on every surface, garlands and wreaths on the walls, even a family of reindeer in the backyard. Carl rushed from one end of the room to the next, pointing out his favourite nutcracker or the snowman that could dance at the touch of a button. Daryl stumbled along beside Rick, open-mouthed and staring at the house’s transformation. He looked utterly mesmerised by it all.

“We didn’t decorate the tree yet so we could do it together as a family.” Michonne put one arm around Carl’s shoulders, and held the other out to Daryl. He shyly pressed himself against her, letting her give him a rare hug. “Shall we get started now?”

Armed with spiced cookies and cocoa, they got to work on the tree. They wound layers of red and gold tinsel from trunk to tip, wove fairy lights through the branches and adorned the pine needles with tiny threaded chocolates and baubles of all shapes and sizes. All three kids were clearly delighted with their efforts, and Daryl even consented to having his photograph taken in front of it; arm in arm with Carl, Judith perched on one hip. They’d realised early on in the placement that he didn’t enjoy having his photo taken, usually turning away or scowling at the lens. This time, he beamed.

* * *

“I hate fractions.” Daryl whispered once he'd checked the coast was clear. He spun a pencil between his fingers, then chewed on the tip. “They don’t make no sense.” Carl looked over at his worksheet, already bearing several eraser marks. 

“I hate them too. Michonne always has to help me, and even then I still don’t get it.” Daryl scratched the top of his head with a sigh.

“Yeah, well don’t think I’m never gonna get it neither.” He wrote a rough guess for the last problem, then tucked the sheet back into his book. “That’ll have to do.” Carl shut his own textbook, deciding he’d simply had enough of reading about photosynthesis for one day. 

“How are the people in your class now?” He asked cautiously. Daryl shrugged, picking at the skin on his thumb.

“Fine.”

“They’ve stopped calling you names?”

“Nah. But it’s like I told you ‘afore, I don’t care what they call me. Had worse.” Carl tried to imagine how he would feel if he didn’t have any friends at school. It made his belly feel heavy.

“Why don’t you just beat them up, like you did with Gage Miller?” He knew he was treading on thin ice, asking this many questions. Too many more, and Daryl would shut down for the rest of the day and refuse to talk to him at all. 

“Weren’t the same.”

“Yeah it was!”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Uh-huh.” They glared at each other for a moment, then grinned in unison. Carl shoved his school books back in his bag with a yawn. “I still don’t get why I can’t tell dad and Michonne. They’d help.”

“What, like you told them about Miller?” Daryl scoffed. “You know damn well it won't do nothin’. They’ll stop if I keep ignorin’ them, get bored and move on to someone else.”

“Okay, okay. Hey, I was talking to dad again about us going to school on our own sometimes.”

“What’d he say?”

“That he’d think about it.” Carl rolled his eyes. “I don’t see why we can’t. I’ve got my rollerblades and you’ve got a bike. It’d only take us ten minutes to get there.” Daryl chewed on a fingernail.

“They’re just worried about you,” he muttered. “Lotta bad people out there.” 

“Like your dad?” The question was out of Carl's mouth before he could even stop to consider it. Daryl frowned, and for a few seconds Carl thought he was angry.

“Yeah, ‘spose.” The lines in his forehead deepened. “What makes you think he’s bad?” Carl shrugged, feeling a little guilty.

“Heard Michonne and dad talk about him.”

“Yeah?” Daryl’s voice was so low that he had to strain his ears to catch the words. “What’d they say?” 

“Not much. Just that you deserve better, that’s all.” Carl could feel the heat in his cheeks as he blushed. 

“He’s my blood.”

“I know,” Carl said quickly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to offend you.” Daryl shrugged again.

“S’fine. People always said he was a bad’un. Guess I don’t see why you shouldn’t.” 

“D’you miss him?” Carl asked quietly as they headed upstairs together. Daryl’s face contorted.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “Sometimes. Feels like I shouldn’t, but I do.”

* * *

Michonne felt ill at ease. On the surface, she and Rick were trying hard to project a cheerful face as Christmas approached. They read books about snowmen and reindeer, watched all the movies, and sang the carols when they came on the radio. Underneath however, neither of them were doing so well. The ambiguity of the coming months was hard to deal with. 

"Maybe we're being selfish," she sighed one evening as they changed their bedsheets together. "It could be that Daryl would be really happy with his uncle. He might be totally different from his brother."

"Yeah, I've been thinking that myself. I mean, look at Merle and Daryl." Rick pointed out. "They're nothing alike. And maybe Carol's manager is right, maybe he is better off with a blood relative." They'd been spending a lot of time convincing each other that the move could be a good thing for Daryl; or maybe trying to prepare themselves for the possibility of him leaving. As Maggie had said, nothing was set in stone yet. Although the courts usually followed social services recommendations, it might still be possible that the judge would decide it better to leave things as they were. Might be that Jesse changed his mind or was found unsuitable after all.

"I can't believe Judith's starting preschool next year." Michonne sighed after a few minutes of silence. "Seems like only yesterday that you could fit her in one hand."

"And now she's the boss of all of us." Rick folded the red comforter and placed it at the foot of the bed. "You know what? No matter what happens, we're so lucky."

"Yeah," Michonne smiled, tugging at the corners of the blanket until it was dead centre. "We are."

* * *

Daryl felt very much at peace with the world. He was lying on his front on the living room floor, chin in his hands and listening to Rick reading the first _Harry Potter_ book aloud. All the kids in his class talked about the famous wizard with the circle-frame glasses, but Daryl had never really seen the appeal before. He understood now. For him, the attraction wasn't the magical powers or the grandeur of Hogwarts. It was the feeling of knowing that you're finally home, right where you belong. Having people who truly care about you for the first time in forever. Daryl couldn't deny that it _would_ be cool to be a wizard, but having your own family was a magic all of its own.

He'd been reluctant to believe it at first, sure that Rick and Michonne would pack him off somewhere else as soon as they got sick of him. Only they hadn't. They treated him fair, treated him just as they did their own kids. It wasn't for pretend, they really did seem to like him.

Maybe, in some small way, they might even love him. 

"You okay, honey?" Michonne placed a hand on Daryl's back as she leaned down to set a glass of milk by his side. He knew her thumb was brushing the edge of a scar, but he didn't flinch. He tried very hard to open his mouth and say 'yes', but his jaw had turned to stone. Daryl compromised by sitting up and giving her the brightest smile he could muster. She gave back just as good, reaching for his hand. "You looked miles away there. I wonder what you were thinking about," she tapped her remaining forefinger against her lip. "Turtle doves and a partridge in a pear tree?" He frowned at her, and then remembered the weird song with all the numbers. 

"Nah," Rick closed the book and held it on his lap. "He's thinking about all the chocolate he'll demolish tomorrow. Am I right?" Daryl rolled his eyes in good nature. Carl muttered something from where he slept on the sofa, and Rick reached over to stroke his son’s cheek. 

"Ugh, he'll be up at the crack of dawn, won't he?" Michonne groaned, releasing Daryl and stretching her arms out in front of her.

"Yup. It's tradition. We'll tell him to go back to bed, and he'll go 'but daa-aaad, I'm too excited to sleep!'" The impression made Michonne laugh and Daryl grin. He looked at Carl, a warmth spreading in his belly. He imagined this to be what it felt like to have a little brother.

"We've only got another year or so before Judith gets on that train, so maybe we should make the most of it." Daryl made a special wish that he would be there too, when the time came. He tried to repress the yawn that billowed in his chest, but Michonne was far too eagle-eyed to fool. "I think it's time for you to get some sleep too." He crinkled up his nose in disagreement, and they laughed.

"You'll need it," Rick pulled Daryl to his feet and mussed his hair. "Carl will be dragging you out of bed soon as he's awake.  
  
  
Rick groaned under the weight of two small children as Carl and Judith piled on the bed. He turned a bleary eye on the alarm clock.

“It’s almost six,” Michonne said groggily. “Not bad.” They sat up in bed and surveyed their small brood. Judith, not quite sure what she was excited about but revelling in it regardless. Carl, bouncing on the bed with a furor usually associated with E numbers. Daryl, standing in the doorway with bedhead and nervous anticipation.

“C’mon then, kids. Let’s go have Christmas.”  
  
  
“You made this for me?” Rick ran his thumb over the smooth surface of the clay. “How did you get the shape just right?” He felt both touched and slightly choked. 

“I told him all about how you used to be a cop, dad, and showed him your old sheriff’s hat.” Carl informed him from his spot on the floor, surrounded by wrapping paper. “Oh, cool! We’ve finally got a king for our castle!” He held up his own present, carefully sculpted and finished with a tiny gold crown. “He’s just like I always pictured him.”

“Oh Daryl, it’s perfect.” Michonne’s gift was a tiny cat, white with patches of bright colour. “Did you do these at school?” Daryl ducked his head, staring at the floor. The tips of his ears were pink.

“Look, doggy!” Judith boasted proudly, holding the stuffed toy version in one hand and clay in the other.

“Someone’s impressed,” Rick chuckled. “Thank you, sweetheart. This was real thoughtful of you.” He held his arms out, and Daryl came to him. It still felt like a marvel, the feel of the eleven-year-old’s arms tight around his neck. Michonne got a hug too, and once they parted she had to turn away quickly to wipe her eyes on her sleeve.   
  
They gorged themselves at lunch. Roast potatoes, carrots, sprouts baked with chestnuts which Carl turned his nose up at but Daryl seemed to enjoy. A huge golden turkey with sage stuffing, and mince pies with ice cream for dessert.

When they’d finally had their fill, they all staggered pot-bellied to collapse on the couch for an afternoon of dozing in front of the TV. Rick had an arm around each of the boys, while Judith slept in Michonne’s arms. He and his wife exchanged looks full of meaning. Each passing Christmas seemed better than the one before, and this year was no different. No matter what happened after the final hearing, whether their lives would stay intertwined or be parted, the memories of this day would be something they always shared.   
Rick sighed, and let his head drop to the backrest.   
The only thing that really mattered was that everything turned out okay. They could all take the heartache, if it meant something better for Daryl.

* * *

The boys were back at school for the new year, having made their way there by themselves for the first time. Rick had finally given in, admitting that it would be helpful on the three mornings a week on which Judith now attended preschool. The dreaded phone call arrived on the first Thursday of the new term.

“ _Hi, Rick_.” There was an awkward pause.

“Carol. Is everything okay?” Rick knew the social worker was on their side, but it was hard to keep the frost from his tone. 

“ _Fine, thanks. Everything’s still on track for the court date next month, so I think it’s probably time I talked to Daryl._ ” He felt a wave of sorrow, and immediately admonished himself for being so uncharitable.

“No problem. When were you thinking?”

“ _This afternoon, if that’s okay. I’ll come by around four?_ ”

“That’s fine.” They ended the call. 

“Was that-?” Michonne’s voice faltered. 

“Yeah. Carol’s gonna come round and talk to Daryl after school.”

“I’ll cancel my art class.” She said at once, brow lined.

“No, don’t do that. If he sees you home he’ll know something’s up, and it might set him on edge. I think it’s probably best if we just carry on as usual.”

“Yeah, you’re right.” She conceded. “I won’t be able to concentrate, but you’re right.” They stood together, lost in their own speculations of how Daryl might react.   
  
“Do you want me to leave you alone with Daryl?” Rick asked Carol quietly as she slipped her shoes off in the hall. 

“No, I think it’s best if you stay. He might be more willing to communicate his honest feelings if he sees that you don’t disapprove of him leaving.” That might be easier said than done. 

“He’s just having a snack in the sitting room. I told him you were coming.” Daryl looked up as they entered. Rick took the space next to him on the couch, while Carol sat opposite.

“Hi Daryl, it's nice to see you again. Did you have a good day at school?” A shrug was the standard answer to this question. “Okay, I’m here today because there’s something I need to talk to you about. It’s really important to know what you think.” Rick met Daryl’s bewildered gaze with what he hoped was an encouraging smile. “Do you remember when we talked about the final court hearing that’s happening next month, and the wise person called a judge who’ll decide where you live until you’re sixteen?” He nodded. “Well, I’ve been talking to your dad’s brother. Your uncle Jesse.” The puzzled expression vanished. Daryl’s face became a mask. He bowed his head.

“I think it’s been a while since you saw him last, hasn’t it?” Silence. “Well, he got in contact with me some time ago because he heard that your dad couldn’t look after you anymore. He knows how important it is to keep you safe, and that you might need lots of support in the future. Do you remember his cabin?” Nod. “There’s a spare bedroom, and your uncle wondered if you’d maybe like to meet him sometime, go for a visit. Then if you and the judge are both okay with it, he’d really like it if you could go and live with him.” Rick couldn’t read Daryl’s expression when he turned to him again, blinking. A lock of dark hair veiled his right eye, and Rick brushed it back with his thumb. 

“I know this has come as a bit of a surprise, so it’s alright if you’re not sure how you feel about it right now." He said gently. "But whatever you decide, we’ll all support you. What we want most is for you to be happy, so don’t be worried about hurting anyone’s feelings.” They waited. Daryl looked suspended in time.

“Will you think about it, and let me know what you decide in the next couple of weeks?” Carol asked, her usually warm eyes flashing with disquiet.   
Nod.

* * *

Michonne wasn’t sure what had woken her. The hallway felt compressed with silence as she crept past Judith’s room, but she was certain she’d heard a noise.

“Daryl?” She whispered through the crack in his door. He wasn’t asleep, Michonne could sense it. She felt her way to his bedside, letting her eyes adjust to the shapes in the darkness. “Honey, you’re shivering.” Light filled the room as she switched the lamp on. Daryl’s pupils contracted in pools of blue. Michonne knelt, placing a hand on the bed. The sheets were damp. He wouldn’t look at her in his shame. “I think you’ve gotten in a bit of a tangle with your bed. Why don’t you go and splash your face with some water while I sort out your sheets?” She pulled a fresh pair of pyjamas from his drawers, and Daryl took them with his head hanging. Michonne quickly stripped the bed and remade it, adding an extra blanket for warmth. “Feel better?” She asked, seeing him standing in the doorway. “Good. You get comfy, and I’ll stay here until you’re fast asleep. There, let me tuck you in.”

The light stayed on. Michonne watched the creases of Daryl’s brow, not smoothed over even by sleep.


	10. Faultlines

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry again for not replying to comments, it was great to get them as always. Thanks for reading.

"How're you copin'?" Maggie poured tea for everyone, producing a golden sponge cake from a large tupperware. "My little sister Beth made it. I told her y'all could do with some cake. It's lemon." 

"That was good of her." Rick smiled wanly. "We've been better, to tell the truth."

"Daryl's still not dealin' with it well?" Michonne took the plate Maggie served her.

"He's completely withdrawn. It's like he was all those months ago when he first came to us, and it's horrible to see." She took a bite of cake. "This is delicious. Will you thank Beth for us?"

"Of course." Maggie chewed thoughtfully. "Do you think it's a reaction to the question, or havin' to come up with the answer?"

"Hard to be sure. I get the feeling that he doesn't want to live with his uncle, but that might be self-centered wishful thinking on my part." Rick rubbed his jaw, staring unseeingly out the window. "Did you talk to Carol?"

"I did. That manager of hers is still diggin' the heels in. She reckons Daryl just needs to see his uncle again." Maggie rolled her lips over her teeth. "Thing is, she could be right. Daryl hasn't seen Jesse in a long while, so they'd need to bond some if they are going to live together."

"If Will and Jesse had a falling out, it might be partly that Daryl thinks it would be disloyal to his father to live with his uncle." Michonne suggested, sweeping a few crumbs from the counter into the palm of her hand. "Or even that he's worried about being disloyal to us."

"So, really I think the only way Daryl will end up stayin' here is if he finds some way of tellin' you that's what he wants. Else the judge will make up his mind for him." 

"I know," Rick exhaled, feeling defeated. "We know that. Thing is, I kinda feel like he's trying to tell us, and we're not listening."

* * *

Daryl trudged to the sink with his head bent. He usually liked art class, but his mind felt too heavy to enjoy their still-life paintings. His banana had turned out wonky, the apple too bright a red. Miss. Williams told him he'd done a good job, but he wasn't stupid. Adults kept looking at him the way she did. Brows knotted with concern, smiles they worked too hard at.

"Hey, Dixon." A voice hissed. He started, water spraying through his fingers. "How's the foster home?" Daryl shook his hands, refusing to meet Greg's eye. "Bet they demand extra pay, having to live with a creepy weirdo like you." He'd had worse. 

"Yeah, vet bills are expensive." Snorted one of Greg's sheep. There was a smattering of laughter, and Miss. Williams looked up from her desk.

"What's going on over there? Greg Fairbanks, I am not gonna tell you a third time. Most of the class have already finished, and you've barely started. Sit down, and don't let me hear another peep outta you." Greg glared at Daryl like it was his fault.  
  
  
He dawdled after the bell signalling end of school, stacking pots and washing brushes. His thoughts demanded so much of his attention that he didn't even see the fist thrown his way. It struck just above the ear and left his head ringing. Daryl whirled around, but two of Greg's friends grabbed him before he even had time to raise his own defence. 

"Not so tough now, are you?" Greg spat, like it wasn't three-on-one. Daryl pulled against the arms gripping him. He took another blow to the belly that made him double over, spluttering. "Why don't you just go back where you came from, freak? No one wants you here. Just 'cause you took on Gage Miller, doesn't make you shit." His lip split on the next impact. Daryl let his weight drop. The arms released him. Greg grabbed one of the open tins of paint, and threw the contents right at him. Right over the new sweater he'd gotten at Christmas, soft blue material turned red with ruin. Greg said something else, but Daryl didn't hear it. Then they were gone. He sat propped against a chair, paint tightening as it dried on his skin, thinking it had been stupid not to fight back. If Merle were here, he'd have called Daryl a pussy. If Merle were here, he'd have stomped Greg Fairbanks into the ground himself.

"Daryl- oh my god, what happened?" A hand cupped the back of his head. He shrugged away, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand and leaving a trail of paint on his cheek. "Come on handsome, let's get you on a chair." Daryl let Rosita help him up. "You wait right here. Rick's waiting for you outside, I'll go find him." He worried at his bloody lip while she was gone.

"Hey buddy. Are you alright? Let me take a look." A finger curled under his chin. Daryl allowed Rick to tilt his head back but didn't look at him. 

"Did someone do this to you, Daryl?" He was so tired of all their questions. They mopped him up as best they could, and his lip would heal in a few days. His clothes were beyond repair, but Rick said it didn't matter. 

"Thanks, Rosita. We'll just clean up this mess," he gestured to the paint can still dribbling on the floor. "And then I'll take Daryl home."

"No, don't worry about that. I'll clean up, you go ahead and get home." They headed out to the car. There were just a few stragglers milling around in the playground, all of them staring. 

When Rick asked again if he was okay, Daryl nodded.

After all, he'd had worse.

* * *

"What's wrong?" Carl turned the page of his comic. "You're especially quiet today." Daryl just shrugged. Carl dropped his voice to a whisper. "Is it what happened with Greg Fairbanks the other day?"

"Nah. Well kinda, but not really."

"Dad asked me if I knew anything about it, but I said no." Carl still felt wrong about that, but he'd promised Daryl he wouldn't say anything. 

"Thanks."

"So how come you won't talk to me?"

"Am talking to ya." Daryl brushed a thumb over his swollen lip.

"You know what I mean. You can tell me, I won't tell anyone." 

"Guess I just miss my family." Carl blinked. 

"But we're your family now." He said, a little indignantly. Daryl squinted at him. He didn't know about uncle Jesse yet.

"Yeah. But I'm a Dixon first. Known my old man and Merle longer 'n anybody." Carl didn't always understand his friend.

"I know, but your dad was mean to you, and Merle left without even saying goodbye properly. How can you still love them?"

"S'not like you keep score. You can love someone, but not like 'em." 

* * *

They waved to Rick, standing on the doorstep with Judith on his shoulders. Carl on his rollerblades, Daryl on his bike. 

"What's the hurry?" They usually took their time on the journey to school, stopping to pet a stray cat or skip a stone against the creek to watch the water ripple. Daryl didn't reply. The cold air fought against the mist of their breath, their hair lifted in the slipstream. 

“You go on ahead,” Daryl nodded towards the school gates. “I’ll be right there.”

“Where are you going?” Something wasn’t right. Carl could feel it in the prickling of his skin. Daryl sighed exasperatedly.

“I just- there’s just somethin’ I gotta do.”

“What?” 

“Ain’t got time to explain. You wouldn’t understand anyway. Just-” Daryl grabbed for Carl's hand, squeezing tight. “Cover for me. Please? Don’t tell nobody I’ve gone. Just gimme a head start.” 

“I’m not covering for you unless you tell me where you’re going.” The fingers wrapped around Carl's unfurled. Daryl cast a nervous glance over his shoulder.

“Fine. I’m gonna go look for Merle. Just wanna talk to him is all.” Carl didn’t understand why this was happening.

“Daryl, nobody knows where he is.”

“He’ll prob’ly be back home, now the heat’s died down.”

“With your dad?” 

“Yeah,” Daryl breathed. “With him.” They stared at each other. “I’ll come back after. I’ll be home ‘fore the end of school, but I gotta do this. I gotta.”

“Promise you’ll come back?”

“Promise.” The bike’s tires spattered dust as Daryl turned. Carl watched until he rounded a corner and vanished from sight.  
  
  
Even pushing his bike along, it wasn't hard to slip past the station guard. Daryl might have been able to afford a ticket, but the price of being caught ditching before he’d even made it a mile was too high. The wheels made their satisfying _click click click_ sound, so he kept moving just to hear it. He’d considered stashing the bike in a bush somewhere outside the station, but it had been his birthday present and the thought of it being stolen was unbearable.

A static-laden announcement came over the intercom, submerged almost at once by the protest of a train’s breaks as it pulled up by the platform. Daryl scanned left and right. He pulled his hood up and started forward. No one tried to stop him as he hauled his bike into a compartment.

* * *

It felt strange to be back. Daryl cycled past Maxine’s Diner, remembering the waitress with the red hair and a front tooth that was just a little crooked. She’d been sweet on Merle and kind to Daryl, serving them up free burgers with a wink. His brother had always known how to charm people, give them the impression of a diamond in the rough. People thought they could change him, but Merle had a habit of being the one to twist things and bend them out of shape. It was something he'd learned from their father. Daryl sometimes wondered if their mother had thought she could change Will Dixon. When did she realise she couldn’t? Before she got on the booze? After? 

There was the all-night liquor store a mile down the road from Maxine’s, with the grumpy old man behind the counter. He’d once thrown Daryl from the building by the scruff of his neck, ignoring his insistence that he could pay, that his daddy just wanted beer.

“Yeah, likely story. And hogs sprout angel wings on a Sunday,” the grumpy man had shot back. “Ain’t no Dixon comin’ in my store; no way no how. Your family’s thievin’ ways been eatin’ at my profits far too long.” He’d given Daryl a hard shove. “Go on kid, beat it. Tell your daddy that if he wants his beer he can damn well come pay for it himself, along with every other dime he owes me.” Daryl had nodded, knowing full well he would never dare to repeat the words. His father had a habit of shooting the messenger. He’d had no choice but to turn for home, spurned for having bad blood.

His filthy Dixon blood stained his father’s belt that night.

Daryl had to stop, trying to take deep lungfuls of air the way Rick had shown him. Hand on his chest, _inhale_ , _exhale_. He wanted to go home, then. Back to King’s County and his blue bedroom with the motorcycle models, Judith with her curious hands and garbled words, Carl and the castle they had built together. Rick and Michonne, the closest thing he’d ever really had to parents. Then he remembered why he couldn’t. It wasn’t his home, not if the judge said he had to leave. Not if-

He swung his leg back over his bike, and pedaled faster.  
  
  
The house was exactly as he remembered it. Crumbling walls, gaps like broken teeth in the roof tiles. The wild lawn and untamed weeds just the same, with a broken propane heater relinquished to the overgrown grass. A tree stood sentry at the side of the property. Daryl knew it grew the sourest apples you’d ever taste, half of them rotted from the inside. The porch step creaked as he set a foot down, unexpectedly familiar. He remembered all the times he’d heard that creak and unconsciously braced for impact.   
When he knocked on the door, a layer of dust rose from the tiny pane of glass set into the wood. It opened.

“Oh. S’you.” His father said, as though he’d been expecting better company. As though it hadn’t been seven months since they'd last seen each other. He pushed the door wider, scratching his nose as he peered down at his son. 

“Hi, pa.” Daryl said in a small voice. 

“What’re you doin’ on my doorstep? That family kicked you out or somethin’?” 

“No,” he clenched his fists, forcing himself to stand up straight like a man. “Came to see Merle.” Will Dixon's eyes narrowed. "And you." Daryl added quickly.

“Merle? He ain’t here.” Daryl felt his shoulders deflate. His father continued to scrutinise him. “I mean, I saw him a few months back. Packed a bag and pissed right off again, ungrateful lil’ bastard. If I’d known ‘bout all the shit you kids would bring me, I’d’ve shot you down the drain instead of your mother’s belly.” Daryl didn’t know what to say to that. Will staggered forward and cuffed his son on the shoulder. “Well, don’t stand out here all day like a damn scarecrow. C'mon now, give your old dad a hug.” The hands on his back felt weighty.  
  
Daryl didn’t know what he’d expected. There had been a tiny part of him that thought his father might cope better while he and Merle were gone, with two less mouths to feed. If anything, it was worse than ever. Empty liquor bottles scattered everywhere, a couple with brand labels but mostly the cheap stuff that smelled like paint thinner. Ashtrays overflowing, mess all over the floor. There were a couple of dark stains where it looked like his father might have pissed himself in the throes of his inebriation.

“What are you waitin’ for? Sit your ass down, boy.” His father thrust an open box of crackers at him. “Here. You always liked these.”

“Thanks.” The crackers had turned soft, but Daryl was pleased that his dad had at least remembered one thing about him.

“Let’s hear it then. Why you really here?” He shrugged.

“Told ya. Lookin’ for Merle.”

“Yeah, right,” his father snorted derisively. “Didn’t bother comin’ before, didya? Back when he first hauled ass.” 

“The cops said you told ‘em you hadn't seen him.”

“What? ‘Course I did! Wasn’t about to rat out my own blood to them pigs, was I?” His father lit a cigarette. “What, you gone soft or somethin’? Forget what it means to be a Dixon?”

“Nah,” Daryl said quickly. “I ain’t forgotten.”

“Good.” Smoke curled upwards in the dank air. “Now answer my damn question.”

“Huh?” Blue eyes, so like his own, flashed in anger. 

“Don’t play the idiot with me, son. Why are you here?” Daryl fidgeted with the ring pulled from a beer can. 

“Just don’t wanna be there no more.”

“Figures. You finally wise up to it? They ain’t never gonna replace family. Blood is everything, kid. Don’t you ever forget it.”

“I won’t.” Will seized a mason jar and unscrewed the lid. Colourless liquid sloshed around inside. Daryl wrinkled his nose. Moonshine and his father never mixed well.

“And don’t you be givin’ me none of them looks. You ain’t no better than you think you are, boy.” His father gave a harsh bark of laughter. “How could you be, comin’ from me? Hell, you used to drive me up the wall sometimes. Remember the time with that BB gun? It belonged to that kid down the way didn't it- the hell’s his name? Ah, it don’t matter. Thought my number was bein’ called when that pellet came smashin’ through the window. And you stood there with your face hangin’ open, when all your little asshole pals at least had the sense to make a run for it.” Daryl did remember. 

“Where was I ‘sposed to run to?” His father laughed again.

“Yeah, well that’s true enough. You always did know how to take a lesson, I’ll give you that.” Their eyes met. They looked away in the same moment. “Guess I gave you a hard time of it, sometimes. You get why though, right?”

“Yeah, pa.”

“Tell me.”

“We gotta learn.”

“Yeah, that’s right. Ain’t nobody else to watch our backs. Just us. We look out for each other, and sometimes that means we gotta pay when we jack shit up.” His father stubbed out the cigarette and reached for another. “You remember your mama?” Stupid question. Of _course_ he remembered her. “You look like her, more’n Merle ever did. Same hair.” Will shot a dirty look at Daryl. “Don’t those folk ever cut it? You look like a damn girl.” He took a long drag. “Anyway, she was a good woman, your mama. Real shame what happened to her. I told her she shouldn’t smoke in bed, but did she listen? Stupid. Ain’t never gonna forget comin’ home to find the whole fuckin’ place in flames, and you sittin’ with that pig. The cheek of it, them paradin’ you in that cop car as though you’d done somethin’ wrong.” Daryl remembered it differently. He’d been shivering, in total shock. The officer had sat him in the passenger seat with a blanket, and played tic-tac-toe and hangman while they tried to trace his father. To say this would have been dangerous.

“Yeah, I remember. Asshole pigs.” The best way to deal with his father was to parrot everything back at him, just with different words. 

“She would be turnin’ in her grave if she knew the government’s been tryna steal you away from me.” His eyes narrowed. “It ain’t right, what they did. Child abduction. Always did my best for ya, didn’t I?”

“I know, pa.”

 _"Yes pa, no pa, three bags full pa_ ,” his father mimicked. “You wanna know somethin’? I used to think you were simple. Thought maybe your brother stole all ya words when he was born, and there weren’t nothin’ left for you. Your mother would scold me somethin’ dreadful when I told her that. She reckoned you’re just a thinker.” Will leaned forward to look more closely at his son. His eyes fell on the backpack over one shoulder. “Well, least you got more brains than Merle. Stupid fool didn’t think to bring so much as a spare sock. You ain’t seen him since he left then?”

“Nah.” 

“Never thinks of no one but himself, that boy.” One of the apple tree’s branches tapped against the window.

“So can I stay?” 

“Yeah, I guess so,” Will grunted, as though it were a great hardship. “If you ain’t got nowhere else to be.” He raised his eyes to his son. “Don’t tell me, the pigs will come sniffin’ for you next.” Daryl shrugged. “Christ. Gonna end up on an amber alert sayin’ I abducted my own boy. C’mon, then. No use wastin’ sunlight. Let’s hole up in the shack for a day or two, see where the land lies.” They left the house together, the father with an arm draped around the son’s shoulders.


	11. Wings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Had to edit and post this from my phone. Sorry if there are any editing issues. Thanks for reading, and the comments/kudos!

The continuous drone of the balding, middle-aged man’s voice was starting to make Rick’s head hurt. He would never begrudge having to give up a morning for mandatory foster carer training, but no one could ever claim that it was an engaging use of time.

“And that’s why ‘naughty’ really is such a negative word.” The tutor concluded after a fifteen minute monologue on the matter. “Any questions?” Rick saw Michonne give a surreptitious glance around the room, hoping as he did that no one raised their hand. “Okay. Let’s break for lunch, and meet back here in a half hour.” There was a general groan as people stood, stretching limbs that had cramped halfway through the morning.

“Man, that guy could put a raging hippopotamus to sleep.” Michonne yawned, taking his hand as they left the room. 

“Tell me about it. Let’s get some fresh air.” Rick slid his cell from his pocket to check the time. His stomach rolled. He dropped Michonne’s hand.

“Rick? What is it?” He was already dialing voicemail. 

“The school’s called me over a dozen times.” Rick listened to the first message, heart drumming in his chest. “Daryl’s missing.”   
  
They didn’t stop to tell the course tutor where they were going. Michonne followed in his wake as he hurtled down stairwells and crashed through doors, ignoring the open stares of the people they passed. 

“Michonne, Rick!” He skidded to a halt at the entrance of the social services building. “Thank god, I’ve been lookin’ all over for you. You spoke to the school?” Maggie followed as they hurried outside. Rick was vaguely aware that he’d left his jacket in the seminar room upstairs.

“We only just got the message. Come on, we’ll take our car."

“Carol’s office called me,” Maggie explained as she fastened her seatbelt. “She’s off on leave today, but they told me the school was tryin’ to reach you.”

“Did they say how this happened?” Michonne asked breathlessly. “How did Daryl manage to sneak out of school?”

“He didn’t. He never made it in the first place.”

“But then- Carl-” 

“Carl’s there. He’s real upset but won’t tell anyone why.” Rick pressed his foot harder against the gas pedal. “Apparently Daryl’s teacher’s off sick and the substitute didn’t report his absence until an hour ago. Rosita was in another class, so she didn’t know either.”

* * *

“I’m sorry,” the TA said tearfully as she led them to the principal’s office. “I should have made sure Daryl was in class, after the problems he’s been having.”

“It’s not your fault,” Michonne clasped Rosita’s shoulder. “You can’t be everywhere at once.”    
They reached the office. Principal Monroe looked ashen and haggard from where he sat behind his desk. A small boy trembled in the chair opposite.

“Carl!” Rick rushed forward to hug his son. “What’s happened buddy?”

“I p-promised I wouldn’t tell,” Carl sobbed. “He said he’d be back by the end of school. He promised he’d b-be back.” Rick rubbed his back in slow circles.

“What do you mean- he said?”

“Daryl. He promised he’d come home.” 

“Sweetie, Daryl doesn’t talk.” Michonne said gently, dropping to her haunches and taking Carl’s hand.

“He does! Just to me, just sometimes.” 

“Okay,” Rick soothed. “It’s alright, Carl. We know that you want to keep your promise to Daryl, and that’s noble. But-” he swallowed hard, trying not to let the fear show on his features. “Do you remember what we say about secrets?” 

“Not in our house.” 

“Yeah, that’s right. And we don’t mean surprises; good things that will make someone happy. We mean the kind of secret that might make someone feel sad, or scared. The kind of secret that makes you feel like you’re carrying something heavy around. Do you remember what we said to do if that ever happens?” Carl wiped his nose on the back of his hand, nodding.

“To tell you or mom. Or Michonne.” He gave a loud sniff. “I knew I should tell you, but I thought Daryl would stop talking to me again. I like it when he talks to me.”

“We understand, Carl.” Michonne stroked the palm of his hand with her thumb. “We’re not mad, and no one’s in trouble. “But Daryl’s missing, which is very serious. Did he tell you where he was going?”

“Yeah.” Carl hiccuped, tears still clinging to his eyelashes. “He said he wants to talk to Merle. I think he’s gone back to his old house.” 

Rick got back in the car on his own, Carl’s words still ringing in his ears. He pressed his cell against his ear as the ignition rumbled into life. 

“It’s me. Don’t talk, just listen.”

* * *

Nearly five years had passed since their last meeting, and yet the man waiting for him hadn’t changed a bit. 

“Rick,” he began. “What-”

“Just drive. I’ll explain on the way.”    
The siren wailed, blue lights flashing as they headed south to the open countryside. Rick’s fists lay curled in his lap as he talked. He stuck to the facts, knowing he couldn’t afford to surrender to his emotions.

“I heard a boy was missing. Didn’t know it was one of yours, though, or-” Shane’s sentence trailed off. “You spoken to the department local to where this kid’s dad lives?”

“Apparently they said they’d ‘get to it when they have time’. I think they’ve had enough of King’s County asking them to check out the same house.” Shane glares at him, the tip of a thumb resting between his front teeth.

“You sure this is the way you wanna play it?”

“What other way is there?” His ex-partner shrugged.

“I don’t know. Just thought you’d left all that behind.”

“I didn’t call you because I need you to think. I called because I need you to drive.” An awkward silence followed.

“Look man, I’m-” 

“Save it.” Rick snarled. Then he sighed, knowing it wasn’t really Shane he was mad at. “It’s not important right now. I just need to bring Daryl home safe.”

“We will, Rick. We will.”

* * *

The shack wasn’t much more than four walls and a roof. There was no water or power, damp corners and the door didn’t shut properly, but it was better than nothing at all. They used to store supplies here, sometimes spent the night if a hunt took them this way. Daryl sat at the entrance, using a knife to pick dirt out from under his nails while his father finished the moonshine.

“For the love of god, do not cut off one of them fingers. Last thing we need is you redecoratin’ the place.”

“I won’t.” Judging by the sun’s position, it was already early afternoon. They would know that he’d disappeared by now, and probably where he’s gone too. Carl would want to keep his promise, but adults have a way of getting things out of you, if you let them.

“You got any food in that purse of yours?” Daryl reached for his pack, but his father was quicker. He shook the contents roughly onto the floor and picked through them with contempt. 

“The hell’s this?” He held up the sketchpad Rosita had bought Daryl for his birthday.

“It’s for drawing in.”

“Don’t be a wise-ass, boy. Didn’t I raise you better than that?” The tone rang danger. Daryl said nothing. Will flicked through the pages derisively, heavy hands tearing the paper. “What, you some kind of fag now?” The book’s sharp edge caught him in the ribs as his father threw it back at him. 

“It’s just for school.” Daryl lied. He groped in one of the discarded backpack’s pockets, searching for the bar of chocolate he knew Michonne had slipped in there. His father accepted it with a grunt. He snapped the bar in two, and threw half back to Daryl. “Brand name, huh? Them folks you live with best not be spoilin’ you. Don’t want some up-jumped pansy for a son.” 

“They’re good people.” 

“Pfft. If they’re part of the social, they ain’t good. You don’t know shit.” The cigarette flared between his father’s teeth. “Y'know, you always used to be tough as old leather. Other kids would scrape their knee and go cryin’ home to mama, but not you. Was always proud of you for that.” Daryl stared at the ground, drawing patterns in the dust. “Even that time when you came trippin’ home, half your baby teeth spit out ‘cause you took a faceful of asphalt tryin’ to climb that stupid abandoned semi down that ditch. Remember that? Didn’t have to learn you nothin’ that time, the damn ground did it for me.” Will paused. “They teach you anythin’, these good people of yours?” He spat on the wooden floorboards, stubbed out the cigarette. “Nah, course not,” he answered his own question. “Pussies, the whole lot of ‘em. So what if I wanna show my kids the same way I been shown? Only natural for a father to discipline his sons.” 

Daryl knew he was walking the rope. One wrong word, an unconscious flicker in his face, and he’d topple right over. He’d known it would happen eventually. It was something he’d looked in the eye when he’d made the decision to come back.    
Daryl clenched his jaw, pressing his tongue hard against the back of his teeth. His muscles felt like they were shrinking.

“It’s our business, not theirs.” He managed to say. It was the right answer, this time. In another instance, on another day, it might have been the touchpaper. 

“Damn straight.” His father stretched his legs out, feet apart. “You’re a good boy, Daryl. S’alright now son. You’re back with me, where you belong. C’mere.” He tapped his foot on the floor. Daryl scooted over to sit between his pa’s legs, back leaning against the chair. “I missed you, kid.” He leaned his head against Will’s thigh, and felt the hand stroking the hair back from his face.

“Missed you too.”

* * *

“Rick man, it looks empty to me.” Shane clapped a hand on his shoulder as he passed, but Rick pulled away. The deputy who’d deigned to meet them at the Dixon house seemed to feel the same way.

“I’m tellin’ ya, old Will’s just out on one of his benders. He’ll be back in a day or two, prob’ly with a black eye and a debt owed to some money shark. Why would that boy come back here anyhow? Foster care really that bad?” He raised an eyebrow at Rick. 

“Easy,” Shane muttered, sensing the simmering tension. He raised his voice to speak to the deputy. “No problem, partner. We appreciate your time.” 

“Asshole.” Rick released his clenched firsts. 

“Yup. C’mon.” Shane started walking away from the dilapidated house with its dark windows.

“Where are you going?” Rick jogged after him, trying to quell the tight grasp of anxiety.

“To talk to the neighbour.” Shane pointed. “I saw the curtains flicker when we passed.”    
The woman took her time coming to the door.

“What?” She barked through a four-inch gap. Shane gave her the benefit of his most charming smile.

“Sorry to disturb you ma’am. We’re looking for a missing child, and we just wondered if you might have a minute to talk to us.” Her eyes swiveled as though looking for eavesdroppers. 

“You boys best come in.”    
  
They didn’t have time for the tea the woman was pouring, but they could hardly say no. 

“Thank you.” Rick took a cup, taking a sip without letting it cool. He barely noticed the burn.

“This about Will Dixon’s boy?”

“Yeah, that’s right. You seen him?” The woman shrugged, her eyes narrowed. She hadn’t trusted them with her name yet.

“Maybe. If the lad wants to go home what’s it to you?” 

“We just wanna make sure he’s safe.” She gave a humourless laugh.

“Took you long enough. What is he- nine? Ten? Didn’t see anyone rushin’ to his aid before now. Or his daddy’s before that.”

“He’s eleven,” Rick answered automatically. “How long have you known the family?”

“Years. Decades. Knew Will and Jesse from when they were knee-high.” The woman’s tongue poked through a gap in her teeth. “Me and my first husband used to live in the same trailer park, y’see. Back when Will was a pup. You could hear everythin’ through them metal walls. The cryin’. Yellin’.” The woman stuck a cigarette through the gap. “My mama always said to me; she said the one thing she would never abide was me fallin’ in with one of the Dixon boys. Like I needed her to tell me. There’s somethin’ gone wrong in Dixon code, everybody knows that.” She blew a smoke ring. “Funny, ain’t it? We’re still neighbours after all these years. Will ain’t as loud as his daddy used to be. Still hear him carryin’ on, sometimes. When the wind blows this way.”

“We passed by the house. Looks empty to me.” Shane told her, leaning closer in an attempt to invite confidence. “And we’re just a little worried about Daryl. Have you seen him today?” 

“I’m askin’ for trouble just by askin’ you in. Now, I might’ve known Will Dixon most of his years, but he still ain’t gonna forgive me if I risk separatin' him from his blood again.” 

“We understand. Will doesn’t have to know anything.” Shane promised, tapping crossed fingers against his chest. 

“You said you knew Jesse too. Is there any way Daryl might have gone there instead, once he realised his father wasn’t home?” Rick asked. 

“Jesse?” The woman looked surprised. “Lord, no. Boy’s got more sense than that. Will cares about blood over anythin’ else, believe it or no. And even he don’t  _ ever _ speak to Jesse.” 

“Why not?” Rick pressed. The woman sighed, crushing the embers of her cigarette between thumb and forefinger.

“Let’s just put it this way: it’d have to be pretty bad, if it means you end up as the black sheep of the Dixon family.”

* * *

A boot jolted Daryl awake. He sat bolt upright, rubbing the ache from his ribs with his knuckles. His father stood over him, flushed red and breathing ragged. He recognised the rising spread of colour, and guessed that Will had been passing time by drinking and brooding. Daryl hadn’t meant to fall asleep, but his father’s touch had always been soothing and sore in equal measures. 

“Dad?”

“The hell is this shit?” The words were venom. 

“Wh-” Will thrust the sketchbook at him once more.

“Look. At. It.” When he’d been small, his father’s ability to flash between burning rage and ice-cold control had been one of the things that frightened him most. He’d grown used to it over the years.    
Daryl took the book. It was a self portrait, kind of. His back, the curve of his spine, the sharp peaks of his shoulder blades. His scars, arranged to look like the wings of an angel. “Well?” 

“I- it’s just a picture. Don’t mean anythin’.”

“You said this was schoolwork. So what, you been wavin’ this around for all the world to see?”

“I-”

“Way I see it, you either lied to me then, or you’re lyin’ to me now. And  _ that  _ means, either  _ I’ve  _ somehow dragged up a god-damn fairy, or  _ you’ve  _ been draggin’ the family name through the mud.” Daryl’s breaths were staccato in his lungs. Will leaned down until their noses touched. “So? What’s it gonna be?”

“Neither.” Daryl mumbled, staring at the ground.

“What, the floorboards gonna teach you now? You look at me, when I’m talkin’ to you.” A hand gripped his jaw, forcing his head back. He shifted his gaze to his father’s. 

“Neither.” Daryl said again. 

“See, it don’t really matter whichever way you look at it.” The breath on his face reeked of liquor and smoke. He’d forgotten how much he hated that smell. “‘Cause either makes you a liar.”

Daryl didn’t have time to brace himself, so the first blow was the worst. 

* * *

Light was fading as the sun set behind them. It wasn’t always easy to navigate through the dense tree roots, but Rick pressed on. 

“You think she was genuinely scared to talk, or just lonely?” Shane asked from behind him. 

“Both.” Rick ducked under a branch. “Wish it hadn’t taken so long for her to tell us about this supply hut.” He looked over his shoulder. “You don’t have to come, y’know. Stumbling through the dark probably isn’t how you planned on spending your evening. You did what I asked, got me here.”

“Just shut up, man. Who else is gonna give you and Daryl a ride home?” 

“Thanks.” Rick said shortly. 

“What are you gonna say if we find him? What if he doesn’t wanna come back with us?” 

“He will. I don’t know what’s going on in Daryl’s head, but I’ll bring him round. Just have to hope Dixon Sr. will give me the chance.”

“Yeah, well he ain’t gonna have a choice.” Shane’s eyes were dark in the dim light.

“Wait-” Rick held up a hand, frozen to the spot. “Hear that?”

“What?” The sound came again. Shane tilted his head to one side, listening.

“It’s just a wounded animal.”

“No,” Rick shook his head. “I don’t think so.” They moved faster, trying to distinguish the source of the noise against its echo. 

“There’s something up there. A light.” Rick followed Shane’s eye to a distant shape. “Could be the place.” 

“Let’s go.” Rick started forward.

“No- just wait a minute. He’s a hunter, right? He could easily take a shot at us and say he thought we were deer or something.” Shane looked uneasily at the light. “We should call for- wait, stop!” 

Rick didn’t hear the protest. All his energy was concentrated on the tiny building as it came into view, and the sounds he now recognised for what they were. 

A child, screaming.


	12. White Tigers

Had Shane not pulled him back, Rick never knew how far he might have gone. In the moment it took for him to read the scene, he lost himself. The growl in his throat was inhuman. When he launched himself at Will Dixon, fatherly instinct battled against his restraint. A boy lay on the floor,  _ his  _ boy, sobbing and bleeding, retching from the kick to his stomach. The last gift his father would ever give him.

“ _ You _ .” Saliva sprayed Dixon’s face. “He’s supposed to be your  _ son _ . You're supposed to look after him!” Rick slammed him to the floor. He intended to throw every atom of force behind the fist he raised, but Shane grabbed him before he could swing.

“Not here,” he hissed in Rick’s ear. “Not in front of Daryl. He needs you. I’ve got this asshole.” The words broke through the crimson veil. 

“Daryl-” Rick came to his knees beside the boy. “Oh god, Daryl. What has he done to you?” There was blood. So much blood. He tore a strip from his shirt, bunching it against the flowing wound at Daryl’s hairline. He moaned, twisting in Rick’s arms. “It’s okay darlin’, I got you. Keep nice and still now. You’re safe.” The fabric clutched in his fist was already saturated. Shane tried his radio. When no response came, he called 911 on his cell. 

“Yeah, I need police and ambulance-” 

“You’re gonna be okay, bud. Just stay with me.” Rick reached for Daryl’s hand, but stopped himself at the last moment. The left wrist was swollen, the right’s fingers bloody at the tips, nails torn. The floorboards beneath bore scratch marks.

“Here, Rick.” Shane, still struggling with Will, managed to shrug off his jacket. Rick caught it one-handed, draping it over Daryl’s bare torso. A belt lay feet away, coiled like a serpent. 

“Use this to tie him up. Get him out of here.” Rick snarled, kicking the strip of leather towards Shane. He couldn’t look at Dixon for one more moment, or he’d-

“Rick,” the whisper was so soft that he barely heard it. A pair of hazy blue eyes peeked up at him through blood-soaked hair. “You came for me.” 

“Of course I came. You’re family. I’m right here.” Rick whispered back. 

“‘m sorry I left.” Daryl’s speech was slurred, clearly costing a great effort. His eyelids began to droop.

“Don’t be sorry. Stay awake now, sweetheart. C’mon Daryl,” Rick gently tapped his shoulder, where no blood or bruise could be seen. “I got you.”

* * *

After the dense darkness of a Georgia forest, the hospital seemed unnaturally bright. The interwoven odour of antiseptic and boiled vegetables was stifling. A cup of vending machine coffee grew cold at his feet, and Rick waited for news. Shane had stayed a while, and apologised for the role he played in the breakdown of his and Lori’s marriage. Rick didn't need to hear it. Not anymore. Not now. Eventually, he told Shane to go.  
  
  
“Rick?” The voice startled him from his turbulent thoughts. 

“Michonne?” She pulled him into a tight hug. Rick let himself be enveloped, resting his head against his wife's shoulder and granting himself a brief moment of weakness before he pulled his emotions back together. “Where are Carl and Judith?”

“Maggie’s sitting with them. I had to come, Rick. How is he?”

“I don’t know.” He rested his chin on the top of Michonne’s head. “They took him away an hour ago and no one’s talked to me since. The paramedics thought he might have a fractured skull.” The last few words were obscured by the catch in his throat. Michonne pulled him to the hard-backed chairs. Rick sank down, head in hands. “I could’ve killed him, Michonne. The father, I mean. If Shane hadn’t got between us-” he took a breath, trying to regulate his thoughts. 

“But you didn’t.” Her hand was an anchor in his. “You found Daryl, and you got him here. He's a strong kid, and he'll be okay. The only thing that matters is that he has us to support him now.”

* * *

Merle had taken him to the Georgia State Fair one summer. It was the year after their mother had died, when Daryl’s heart still felt heavy whenever he thought of her.   
He hadn't known where the money for the entrance fee came from and didn't ask; too intrigued by the smells of candy corn and hotdog stalls to risk ruining it. They watched the pigs race and marvelled at Lady Houdini escaping her water cell. On a ride that span in circles, they laughed together when a kid on the next bench puked everywhere. When they staggered from the ride, their heads were so dizzy that they collapsed in a heap. Daryl said he felt sorry for the white tigers trapped in their cage, to which Merle told him to stop being a baby. They ate fried food until their bellies grew round, and pretended like they were never going home. It had been one of Daryl’s best ever days.   
  
He didn’t know why he was thinking about the State Fair. There was no warming smell of sugar, none of the excited screaming. Even without opening his eyes, he could tell the light was too unnatural to be out in the Georgia sunshine.    
It felt as though his bones had been cast in solid metal. He couldn’t move. Daryl tried to think where he was, what he had been doing, and why he might have turned to iron. The thoughts felt like fog and hurt his head, so he desisted. It sounded as though someone might be talking, but it was hard to tell if it was inside his mind or out.    
Daryl thought some more about the white tigers. They morphed into something else- a creature he knew but couldn’t name. Equally fearsome, but smaller. The black marks on its fur were rosettes, not stripes. He thought of riding one into battle, and then of nothing.

* * *

Michonne sat at Daryl’s bedside in the paediatric ICU, listening to Rick as he read about ice trolls and talking leopards. The ECG monitor beeped, the ventilator whirred. Flowers slowly wilted in the vase on the windowsill, and Daryl fought the sedation. Understandably, he didn’t seem to appreciate the tube running down his throat, but lacked the coordination to yank it out. Small mercies.    
Rick reached the end of a chapter and set the book down.

“He seems better today, doesn’t he? More comfortable.” He said quietly, gaze trained on Daryl. 

“I may have had words with his doctor about increasing his morphine.” She admitted, catching Rick’s eye. 

“Well, I’m glad. No sense in him being in pain, especially if they’re cutting down on the sedative.” Daryl gave a small moan. Rick stroked his fingers where the plaster cast ended. His wrist had been one of several fractures. 

“It’s okay, honey. We’re right here.” Michonne clasped Daryl’s other hand until he calmed again. “How was Carl when you dropped him at Lori’s?”

“Still breaking his heart. I keep telling him none of this was his fault, but I think he blames himself. How’s Judith? Is she still sick?” Between Rick having to make various statements to the police, shared custody and visiting Daryl in hospital, it felt like they were never together as a family anymore.

“Poor Carl. Yeah, her temperature’s better now but she was still puking when I left her with Beth. I think we’ll have to pay her triple tonight.” Rick had always held the Greene family in high regard, and Michonne could see why. Maggie was doing everything in her power to support them in a fostering capacity, Beth had volunteered as a babysitter for Judith, and Hershel frequently asked Carl for help with the animals at the farm to help distract him.

“That’s fine by me.” They watched Daryl shifting in bed. “He’s really trying to come round.”

“I know.” Michonne couldn’t contain the smile. “I know the doctors say we won’t know about the extent of brain damage until he’s awake, but it feels like a good sign doesn’t it?” The fracture to Daryl’s skull had caused intracranial pressure to build up, and he’d been taken back to surgery after a seizure revealed a bleed. The wait had been an agony unlike any other. Neither Rick or Michonne would ever forget the endless hours pacing the hospital hallways, nor the abstract relief when a surgeon had finally arrived to tell them that things had gone well.

“Definitely. He’s a tough kid. He’ll pull through.”

“-nngh.” Rick pushed the hair back from Daryl’s face, careful to avoid the bandages. 

“I know, buddy. You don’t like the tubes. Just a little longer to help you breathe, and then they can take it out. They need to give your head a rest, that's all.”

* * *

Opening his eyes was exhausting and painful, but hearing the voices around him rise with happiness made it worthwhile. Moving his head or a limb independently still seemed like an impossible task, which was really annoying because more than anything he wanted to pull out the solid material stuck in his throat. He wanted control over his lungs back, and didn’t understand why they’d taken it away from him in the first place.  
Daryl opened each eye slowly, squinting. If they were so desperate for him to do it, why did they never dim the lights? He wished he had a working arm so he could rub the tiredness away.  It sounded like someone was saying his name. Daryl tried concentrating harder, but in order to do that he had to shut his eyes again. Doing both at once would require a skill he no longer possessed. The voice was telling him to open his eyes. Why couldn’t it make up its mind? He did as the voice asked, staring through his lashes until he could cope with the slit of brightness. A little more, and the objects in his vision finally start to take form. A face was floating in front of his. Daryl wanted to reach out to it, but his arms were still metal. 

“...buddy… good-” It was a dilemma. The floating face clearly wanted his eyes open, but he couldn’t hear its words. Could he?

“...doing really-” Daryl supposed there was no reason why he shouldn’t. They all seemed to be words he recognised, at least. He tried to ask them to slow down, but it came out garbled.

“...know, sweetheart… out soon…” His right hand felt odd. He decided to try moving his pinkie finger, just to see what would happen. Then the thumb. The other fingers seemed to want to move too, but that was fine. He curled them around the object on his palm, and realised it to be skin. Someone was holding his hand. They returned the pressure.

“...squeezed my hand!” It didn’t take a lot to keep the floating face happy, and Daryl enjoyed doing it.   
It occurred to him then that the presence of the hand might mean that the face was not floating after all, but attached to a body. He blinked several times. 

“Do...should get... nurse?” Great, now the damn face had disappeared. Daryl closed his eyes again, his efforts too tiring to wait for the face to come back.

* * *

"Hey, sweetie." He opened his eyes. He'd been waiting for someone to come back, preserving his energy. "Did you sleep okay?" Daryl gave an awkward nod, wincing at the pressure from his head. "Here, give me your hand." Michonne took his good hand in hers, massaging his fingers gently. "The physical therapist showed us this, to stop your fingers from cramping while you were asleep." He turned to watch her, disturbing the stiff muscles in his neck. "Now you're aren't having the sedative anymore, they're going to try and take the breathing tube out later. You'll be a lot more comfortable." Daryl raised his eyebrows at her, letting his gaze drop to the plaster encasing his left wrist. Michonne laughed. "Okay, you'll be a little more comfortable. Rick's gonna come by soon so we can both be with you when that happens." Daryl made a noise of understanding at the back of his throat. He'd learned there was no point in trying to speak over the tube. "I've got something for you. Rosita sent it home with Carl." It was a new sketchbook. Daryl wondered where the old one was, then remembered his father throwing it at him. He shivered. Memories kept coming back like that, in tiny slivers of broken pieces. Michonne sat beside him. "We have the old one at home," she said gently. "The police gave it to us. But we don't think you should have it back. It got-" she paused. "There's blood on it, from where you hit your head." They keep talking like that, like they think he doesn't know how he got hurt. Like it was some kind of accident. "We won't throw it out if you don't want us to." Daryl focused on lifting his left arm off the bed and holding it steady. He counted to five, but his elbow was sagging at three. His right was more accommodating, holding out for eight. Michonne touched his chin with the pad of her thumb. 

"How's he doing?" Daryl turned his neck too fast. It made his head swim. 

"Really good." Michonne answered for him. Rick leaned down to look closely at him. The kiss on his forehead tickled, but he didn't mind.   
  
  
They came to take out the tube soon after. It was an experience that left him coughing and spluttering for some time. 

"Just breathe," Rick told him, putting a hand on his chest. "Inhale, exhale. There you go." His head felt constricted. 

“D-d-” He’d expected to be able to form words right away with the tube gone, but his tongue tripped over the letters.

“Easy. It’s alright.”

“D-da-” Daryl made a noise of pure frustration. The sound kept getting lost somewhere between brain and mouth. “Da-d?” Rick clicked his tongue and glanced at Michonne.

“Your father? He can’t hurt you now. The police are with him, looking after him. Don’t worry about that.” 

“N-” Daryl frowned, because he didn’t think that was what he had meant. “N-no. D-ad.” His eyes were growing heavy again. Michonne lightly brushed his forehead with her fingers.

“I don’t think Daryl’s asking about his father, Rick.” She told him. He was asleep again before he could tell her she was right.

* * *

The physical therapist came everyday to manipulate Daryl’s limbs and help him figure out how to balance again. The occupational therapist showed him how to move between bed and chair and how to look after himself as independently as possible. The speech therapist tried to coax sounds from him- to varying degrees of success. Doctors came every few days to stand around and talk about him as though he wasn’t there, and the nurses did just about everything else.

“Hey, sugar.” Said his favourite. “How are we doing today?” She bustled round him, checking his temperature and blood pressure.

“Daryl’s having a good day.” Rick told her. “Carl and Judith are coming for a visit soon.” Daryl’s ears pricked up.

“C-arl.” He managed to sound out. “Ju-Jud-” he sighed, and tried again. “Ju-dith.” The nurse beamed at him.

“Look at you, working so hard. Are they your brother and sister?” Daryl gave a tremulous nod. “I’d better make sure I give a good scrub behind your ears then, hadn’t I?” She gently lifted the bandage cocooning his head. “Hey, you wanna know something? While you were asleep, I had a little bet going with myself that you would have your dad’s eyes.” Her own twinkled. “And I was right, wasn’t I?” Daryl expected Rick to correct her, but he didn’t. He just smiled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to occupational therapists everywhere, who do crucial work but have to deal with no one ever knowing what it is. Thanks for reading!


	13. The Walls Have Ears

After almost two months in the hospital, the day had finally come when they could take Daryl home. He was still weak and a little uncoordinated, but everyone felt he would continue to make good progress at home. Rick agreed with them when they called him a fighter. Daryl blushed.

“That’s it, lean on me. Right leg first, just like the PT showed you. Good boy.” He lifted Daryl up the steps and over the threshold, Michonne hovering behind just in case he fell. “What do you want to do?”

“Sleep,” Daryl yawned. “Tired.” They made it as far as the stairs before he faltered. Rick stooped to carry him. He didn’t protest. Being back in his own bed felt strange, like he’d forgotten the feel of it. The familiar scent of washing powder greeted him like a warm embrace after a long day.

“I’ll sit with him. You go get his things from the car.” Michonne gently swept Daryl’s baseball cap from his head, smoothing his fringe back. The gesture made his eyes sting. He looked away, embarrassed. Daryl hadn’t cried since he had woken up in hospital. Not when the pounding in his skull felt like bursts of flame, or he couldn’t get his hands to work properly. Not when he’d realised that his own father probably would have beaten him to death, if Rick hadn’t come for him. Not when he thought about how he’d failed all the people he loved that day.

Now, with Michonne’s gentle touch and his blue walls surrounding him, he couldn’t hold it back any longer. Daryl wanted to tell her to leave him be, but knew she wouldn’t even if he could speak through the tears. “I know, I know.” She whispered. “It’s not fair. I know.” She pulled him close enough to feel the beat of her heart, murmuring soft comforts into his hair.   
The last time anyone had ever held him like this was his mother before she had died. The thought of her only made him sob harder, face buried in the crook of Michonne’s neck and fists clutching at her shirt, the ache inside of him finally forcing its way out. She let him howl against her, not once complaining that he was making her shirt wet or her ears sore. Will would have called him a pussy.

“S-sorry.” Daryl gulped, drawing back.

“Why?” Michonne used her sleeve to wipe his tears away. “For your feelings? They’re _yours_ , Daryl. You’re allowed to have them. None of this is your fault.”

“Was. I went b-back.” 

“Yeah, you did. That was a choice you made, but it doesn’t make you responsible for everyone else’s.” She paused. “Do you remember? What happened?” Daryl closed his eyes. Michonne eased him back on the pillows. “The doctors thought you might not.” 

“Yeah,” he worked his jaw, thinking of that first blow. “I remember.”

* * *

Carl practically ran home, his spirits finally lifted at having Daryl back with them again. 

“C’mon, Judith!” He was growing impatient with his little sister, who didn’t quite grasp the magnitude of the situation and kept stopping to examine passing bumblebees and interesting pieces of litter. Rick laughed.

“I don’t think we need to rush, bud. Daryl was fast asleep when I left.” 

“Yeah, but I want to be there when he wakes up.” Carl took Judith’s hand, and they ran together.  
The house was quiet, with Michonne in the kitchen fixing dinner. 

“He’s still sleeping,” she said in response to Carl’s expectant face. “It’s been a tiring day for him. Sit down, we’ve still got some cupcakes left.” This seemed to soften the blow somewhat.

“How was your spelling test?” Rick asked, setting his keys on the counter. 

“Good. I got eight of them right.”

“Please tell me that’s out of ten.” Michonne teased, nudging Carl in the ribs. He grinned, pretending to punch her on the arm.

“Yeah! Only now we have to do a book report for next week.” His nose wrinkled in distaste. 

“I thought you liked reading?” 

“No, I like it when dad reads to us,” Carl corrected. “Me and Daryl.”

“Well, we’re about to start on _Matilda_. Why don’t you join us?” Rick suggested. “In fact, maybe I’ll let you read it to me. My voice is getting worn out with all the books we get through.” Carl thought about it, then shook his head.

“Nah, wouldn’t be the same.” A crash sounded overhead. They all stared upward. 

“Stay here.” Rick told Carl firmly. “Watch your sister.” He and Michonne rushed upstairs, but it had only been the sound of the lamp crashing to the floor.

“Sorry,” Daryl gasped. “Missed.” His fingers grappled with their air in the direction of the water bottle on his nightstand. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Rick felt his heart begin to settle. “Want me to-?”

“I got it.” Daryl made another attempt. His hand met its target this time.

“Good job. Hey, Carl’s home. Is it alright if I bring him up?” There was a pause while Daryl concentrated on the water before he nodded. Rick found his son hovering at the bottom of the stairs, ears flapping. 

“C’mon, then. Bring your sister.” Carl grinned, but he hesitated as he reached his father’s side. The boys had seen each other while Daryl was in hospital and still made groggy by morphine and shock, but Rick suspected that Carl felt suddenly anxious about seeing him at home. 

“Just talk to him same as always, Carl. He’s still the same person, just his body needs time to catch up.” 

“Okay, dad.” Judith needed no encouragement, bounding into Daryl's room like an excited puppy. 

“Hey, Jude.” Daryl mumbled, reaching a hand to her. She held up the empty remains of her cupcake wrapper.

“Cake.” She told him. There was a flash of Merle in Daryl’s lopsided smile. 

“Cake.” He concurred. His eyes travelled to the doorway where Carl still wavered. “Hey, Carl.” 

“Daryl-” there was a pause. Rick and Daryl exchanged looks of confusion when the eight-year-old burst into tears. “I’m sorry, Daryl!”

“Wha’ for?” Rick nudged him further into the room. Daryl held up his hand again, and Carl took it.

“For letting you go.” 

“Not your fault.” Deciding to give the boys some time together, Rick scooped up his wriggling toddler and carried her back downstairs to Michonne.

* * *

Two weeks later, they received news that the postponed final court date was to be delayed a while longer, giving Daryl more time to recover before a decision was made about his future. Carol’s silence felt ominous, but Rick forced himself to go about the days as usual. Daryl hadn’t asked about it yet, but the prospect of the hearing was heavy in the air between them. 

It was past midnight on a particularly cold night in early March. Rick couldn't sleep. He headed downstairs to get some water, flicking the kitchen light switch as he entered. The sight of a small figure sitting at the bar almost jumped him out of his skin. 

“Daryl! Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you. What’re you doing down here in the dark?” 

“Couldn’t sleep.” Rick watched the back of Daryl’s head, bowed as if in prayer.

“Me neither. Come with me to the sitting room. It’s more comfortable.”

“What’s gonna happen?” Daryl asked when they were settled at either end of the sofa, legs touching where they crossed in the middle. 

“After the hearing?” There was a small nod. “I wish I could tell you bud. The truth is, I just don’t know yet.” 

“Oh.” Daryl picked at a thread on one of the cushions, rolling it into a ball.

“Can I ask you something?” Wary eyes flashed up at Rick.

“I ‘spose."

“Why did you go back to your father’s house? Carl said you told him you wanted to see Merle.”

“Wasn’t a lie.” Daryl’s said defensively. 

“I know.”

“Guess I wanted to see my dad too,” he muttered, thumb resting against his teeth. “And other things.”

“What other things?” 

“I don’t know. The paint, I guess. Y’know, when my lip got busted. Wasn’t the fact that it happened, just the reason behind it. Sometimes it’s like people know I’m worthless when they look at me. Kinda feels like you’ll know it too someday, but you just haven’t figured it out yet. Bad blood. It’s what they called it back where I lived with my dad.” Rick reached for Daryl's hand.

“There’s nothing wrong with your blood, and you’ve got it the wrong way round." He said firmly. "All we see in you is the goodness. It’s everybody else that hasn't caught on yet.” Daryl snorted, grinding his teeth. 

“Yeah, right.”

“And you aren’t worthless. Even without saying a word to us for all those months, Michonne and I have still grown to love you.” The eyes snapped up again. The jaw stilled. “You might not believe it yet, but it's true. We love you, all of us. You’re very important to our family.”

“Hm.”

“No matter what happens, that’ll always be true.” Silence built between them. “I’m sorry for what your father put you through, when you went back.”

“Said he missed me.” Rick couldn’t help thinking that what Will had missed most was having a vent for his anger.

“I’m sure he did. We missed you, and you weren’t even gone a day.” 

“Yeah?”

“Of course. But I’m glad you’re back now. And that you’re doing so well speaking to us.”

“Don’t see no point in tryin’ to hide it now. You saw what he was like at the shack. Never got it that bad before though.”

“Is that why you didn’t talk to us before? You wanted to protect your dad?”

“Guess so. S’what we’re sposed to do for family, ain’t it? Dixons gotta stick together. Bad blood or not, at least we stick together, don’t rat on each other. Merle always used to say that the walls have ears. I know it’s just a thing people say, but it felt true."

"And what about Merle?" Daryl nodded.

"He got it too, if that's what you're asking. Sometimes I think they're too alike. I only ever caught it when Merle was out of the way. 'm not sure if he even knew it was bad for me too. Might be he just didn't want to know." Rick thought back all those months ago, to Merle’s insistence that Daryl’s broken ribs were a result of playfighting. He felt a rush of sympathy for both boys.

"What your dad did was wrong. Adults aren't supposed to hurt people they love, especially their children. I'm sure he loves you, and Merle too. But sometimes love isn't enough to keep you safe."

"I think you only love the way other people have shown you. Maybe no one ever showed him another way."

"Yeah. Maybe you're right." More silence followed before Rick spoke again. "I know you've had a lot to deal with the last few weeks, but have you decided yet where you want to live after the hearing? Remember, we won't be upset if you'd rather live with your uncle." There was a moment of eye contact between them, over in a blink.

“Made my choice when I left. You asked why I went back,” Daryl took a deep breath, pale in the poor light. “Maybe it was stupid. I know my dad has demons, people always say that about him. But Carol said the judge would probably send me to live with Jesse because we’re family. If I said I didn’t wanna go, I’d be betrayin’ my blood. So if I went back home, I wouldn’t have to do either.” Rick shook his head, nonplussed. 

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I understand what you’re trying to tell me.” Daryl wouldn’t look at him. 

“I went back home because livin’ with my pa would be better than with Jesse.” 

“Why?” Rick’s throat felt constricted. He thought of what the woman with the missing tooth had said on the day Dary ran away. ' _I_ _t'd have to be pretty bad, to end up the black sheep of the Dixon family.'_

“Because. If my dad’s got demons, Jesse has the devil.” ****


	14. Courage Is a Small Coal

"What do you mean?" Rick asked. Fear bathed him in ice. His heart felt like the beating wings of a hummingbird trapped in the cage of his sternum. He asked the question, but already knew the answer. "If there's a reason why living with your uncle might be unsafe for you, it's really important that you tell me." Daryl’s chin tucked his chest. He shook his head, breathing erratic.

"I can't." 

"You don't have to keep it all inside. I know you feel like you'd be betraying your family, but if you ask me? They betrayed you first." The glance in Rick’s direction was longer this time. “Maybe you could just tell me something small, to begin with. If you feel ready.” 

“Used to stay with him sometimes, when my dad got sick of me.” 

“Okay.” Rick kept perfectly still, as though even the slightest twitch of muscle might shatter the moment.

“He had this mint tin. Loved ‘em, stronger the better. He used to get these menthols with plastic wrappers, always crunchin’ on those. He kept other stuff in the tin sometimes, like pot or crank. But mostly those mints.” 

“It’s alright. Take a breath.” Daryl did as Rick asked. 

“Always remember the sound of that tin openin’, and them wrappers. He’d always crinkle the plastic up, roll it up like a cigar. Still can’t stand the smell of menthol.” Another breath, before he continued. “I liked goin’ there, at first. Was just me and him, ‘cause he never had patience for Merle. Too much trouble I guess. He’d make hotdogs and spaghetti, and sometimes we’d go out and shoot tin cans off the wall. He got mad sometimes, but he never- never like my dad. Sometimes I used to wish I was his son, not Will’s. Felt bad about it, after. It was just nice to stay with someone who didn’t curl their lip at the sight of me. Didn’t have to be afraid of nothin’, I thought.” Daryl said with a grimace.

“Go on.”

“Was just words at first. Said things to me that no one else did. But there were lots of things he did and said that others never had, so didn’t think nothin’ by it. Then he-” a loud swallow broke his sentence. “He started doin’ other stuff. Said he needed to check me for tick bites, or put somethin’ on my back when my pa had gone too far. Touched me more’n he used to.” Daryl ran his tongue over his teeth. “Got me things, after. Chocolate, a wood carvin’. That’s when it started to feel bad, because I knew it was payment for somethin’. A trade. You don't ever get nothin' for free. Just didn’t know what it was all for. Till I did.” Tension tightened the air around them.

It felt like the moment before an accident, when you know something terrible is about to happen a split-second before it does. Can’t help, can’t look away. 

It was the flash of blue light when the cops knock on your door in the middle of the night.

The moment before impact.

“What happened next?” Rick was always cautious not to use leading questions with any of the children he fostered. If a child abuse case went to court, it could compromise any evidence and charges had been dismissed for less. He could practically feel the heat radiating from Daryl’s flushed skin.

“Came to my room at night. Or made me sleep in his bed. He’d just stand there, sometimes. With that tin and the crinkly wrappers. He smelled like beer and menthol.” His chest rose in a sharp peak, voice rising. “Touched me places he shouldn't. It hurt in a different way to what dad did.”

“You’re so brave, telling me all this.” Rick swallowed the lump in his throat. How much could one young boy take? He remembered Carol telling them that Jesse was 'eager' to have Daryl live with him after the hearing. He couldn't repress the shudder.

“Nah,” Daryl shrugged. “You just live with things. Don’t make you brave.”

“Maybe bravery isn’t the right word. You have a lot of courage, sweetheart. I’m sorry that happened to you. It’s not going to happen again.” Their eyes met, finally.

“I won’t have to live with him?”

“No.” Rick said firmly. “I’ll make sure of it.”

“Promise?”

“I promise. Cross my heart.” He meant it. Daryl would only go and live with that monster over Rick’s dead body.  
  
During training, he and Michonne had been warned that it could be easy to overthink signs of sexual abuse in a foster child. Expecting to see trauma everywhere, some carers saw sexualised behaviour where there was none, for fear of missing it.  
Rick had never thought that the issue for him would be far worse, that he had failed to even _suspect_ the possibility that Merle or Daryl had faced more than physical abuse and neglect. He knew the statistics, knew damn well that children suffering domestic violence were more vulnerable to being sexually exploited, but there had never been the slightest suggestion- had there? Rick’s eyes remained open long after Daryl’s had drooped shut. He covered the young boy with a blanket, watching the steady swell of his chest and the way the corners of his mouth twitched in sleep. Knowing he wouldn’t be able to sleep himself now, he remained beside Daryl on the couch, wanting to type up his notes while the conversation was still fresh in his mind. He would call Carol first thing in the morning. The clock on the mantle ticked rhythmically as hours slowly passed, and he thought until his brain felt numb.

When Daryl woke with a sweaty brow and panicked murmurs, Rick was there to soothe him back to sleep.

* * *

“I’m sorry I haven't been in touch sooner," Carol shuffled the papers on her lap, looking haggard. "It's been a long week."

"Yeah, for us too." Rick's voice held a bite. Michonne laid a calming hand on his wrist.

"I can imagine. How's Daryl holding up?" 

"Physically, he's doing good." Michonne answered, slipping her fingers through Rick's. "His speech has come on so much since we left the hospital, and he's getting around pretty well. Hopefully he'll feel up to going back to school soon, although we're not pushing him right now. Mentally," here she gave a deep sigh. "He's going through a rough time. Lots of nightmares, panic attacks. I think he's probably chewed through half the skin on his fingers."

"He's terrified, Carol." Rick added bluntly. "He thinks the judge still might send him to live with his uncle, and we can't convince him otherwise."

"That's actually why I'm here. Daryl will never live with his uncle after his allegations towards him, you can be sure of that. After he confided in you about Jesse, police tore that cabin of his apart." Carol twisted the cap of her pen, mouth curled in revulsion. Rick's shoulders relaxed, some of the tension fading with the relief that Daryl was officially safe from Jesse.

"Did they find anything?" 

"There was a loose floorboard. When they pulled it up, they found dozens of pictures, all child pornograhy." Michonne's hand tightened around his. 

"Of Daryl?" That would explain his dislike of being photographed.

"Amongst others, yes." The social worker looked towards Rick. "I also spoke to the neighbour you met on the day Dary disappeared. She was very reluctant to talk, but after a while she admitted to hearing about some 'funny business' concerning Jesse a couple of years ago. Right around the time he and Will stopped talking."

"Funny business? What does that mean?" Rick's fingers started to numb under Michonne’s grip, but he hardly noticed. 

"All I could get out of her was that it was some rumour involving him and a young boy in his neighbourhood, and that Will and Jesse fought afterwards- physically. It was never reported to police or social services, so nothing flagged up when we ran his record during the assessment process. Even so, we're trying to trace this boy so we can offer him support. It's not going well so far." Carol's face was a picture of upset, and Rick felt guilty for his frustration with her. She was fighting against the tide of a broken system, and he knew she had always been supportive of Daryl living with them long-term. 

"So Will heard about this rumour?" Michonne asked.

"Seems likely, although he's not saying a word about it. We're not sure if he knew Daryl was abused by his brother, but we think he probably had an inkling when he heard the rumours, if not before. According to the neighbour, he broke Jesse's nose in the fight." A pregnant silence followed. Two brothers; one a violent drunk who had nearly beaten his own son to death, the other the worst kind of twisted. 

"So what happens now?" Rick's emotions were so conflicted and convoluted that he couldn't feel much of anything. 

"Where's Daryl? I need to talk to him."  
  
  
"Hey buddy. You sleep good?" Rick helped Daryl sit up in bed.

"Yeah."

"No nightmares?"

"Nah." 

"That's good. You wanna come downstairs? Carol's here, and she wants to talk to you. Don’t look so worried, everything's going to be okay now. Here, take my hand."

"Hi, Daryl. How are you? You're looking much better than when I saw you in the hospital." Carol said in a bright tone as they appeared at the foot of the stairs. Daryl just shrugged. He was comfortable talking to Rick and Michonne now, but he still struggled with anyone outside their home. "I know you've been really brave talking to Rick about your uncle and that you're worried about what's going to happen in the future. I just wanted to let you know, there is no chance that you will have to live with Jesse. None whatsoever. What we're going to suggest to the judge is that you should stay here, with the Grimes family, until you leave the care system. Would that be alright?" Daryl stared at her, looking as though he didn't believe his ears. He stared between Rick and Michonne, sitting on either side of him. They waited, breath seized. 

Daryl’s smile was the first glimpse of sun on a stormy day. 

"Yes." He said firmly. "That'd be alright."

* * *

No matter how hard he tried, buttons and laces were still tricky. Since leaving the hospital, Daryl had stuck to clothes that were easy for him to manage, shoes he could slip on and off in the rare occasion he left the house. 

He knew everyone at school wore jeans and sneakers though, so he pressed on at his attempt to catch the button that kept slipping through his fingers. The effort was exhausting, but not at all impossible. He'd lost weight and the pants were a little too big, but Daryl hadn’t been able to open the drawer containing his belt. 

Not yet. 

Slightly loose jeans would be fine.

Maybe he'd let Michonne tie his shoes.  
  
  
They set out early, giving plenty of time for Daryl's faltering steps. The other kids would see him walking like this and probably make fun, but he didn't care. Judith certainly didn't, hopping along beside him and pretending to be the Velveteen Rabbit. 

That afternoon, Daryl thought he understood what the book had meant about being Real. Maybe that could happen to him, too. Maybe being part of a family would make him Real.

"Hi dad! Hi-" Carl stopped in his tracks when he saw his family gathered at the gates. Daryl pulled his cap down nervously. It hid his scar where the hair hadn't quite grown back yet. "Daryl!" He had only a split second to prepare for the hug before it descended upon him. The boys staggered as Carl wrapped his arms round Daryl's neck.

"Only saw you this mornin'." He muttered, trying to reclaim his balance. Rick clasped his elbow, giving him a chance to find his centre. 

"Careful!" Michonne chided, but she was smiling as much as Carl.

"Sorry! I'm just happy you're here." Daryl glanced around at the other kids and parents, wilting under their inquisitive expressions.

"Let’s go home." Rick ruffled Carl's hair and squeezed Daryl's shoulder. "Daryl has something to tell you."

* * *

After months of the social services' wheels turning slowly, everything suddenly seemed to speed up. In early March, almost a year since Merle and Daryl had first arrived on their doorstep, Michonne and Rick went to panel to decide if they were suitable long-term carers for the youngest Dixon. The five members interviewing them voted unanimously in favour of it being a perfect match. 

The new date for the court hearing came not long after, and the honorable Judge Horvath agreed wholeheartedly with social services' recommendation that Daryl should stay exactly where he was.

"There are times in life when you can just _feel_ that something is right," he'd told the family with a warm smile. "And this is one of those times."  
  
  
They celebrated a few weeks later with another camping trip, drinking sparkling cider from enamel mugs and pretending it was champagne. 

"Y'know," Carl said thoughtfully to Daryl as they sat playing battleships by the fire. "I think you were always a part of our family. It just took us a while to find each other."

"Yeah," Daryl grinned, watching Rick as he gently rocked Judith in his arms. "Maybe. Now quit tryna distract me. B-5."

"Hit." Carl grimaced, pushing a red pin through the injured vessel. 

"Hey, c'mere boy." A cold nose pushed into Daryl's hand, and he gave the german shepherd a scratch behind the ears. Even at only five months old, the dog was already taller than Judith. 

They’d found him at the pound soon after the court hearing when they'd 'just gone to look', trembling in a corner and tail tucked far beneath him. Daryl had sat by the cage until the puppy had sidled over, sniffing the air nervously as he came. 

"Ah, damn it." Rick had said to Michonne as their eldest son put a hand through the bars to give the dog's neck a rub. "Told you this would happen."

"I know." She'd smiled back. Judith named him Butterscotch, because it was her favourite word that week.

"Good boy, Scotch." Daryl said softly, steering the dog's wagging tail away from the campfire.

"Do you have to call him that?" Rick groaned, but his eyes were shining. "I feel like people judge us for it." 

"Butterscotch is a mouthful." Daryl grinned, the dog curled up beside him.

"We could call him Butt instead?" Carl volunteered, giggling madly. 

"You know what? Scotch is fine." 

* * *

Rosita was waiting for them on Daryl's first day back at school, bright smile and misty eyed. 

"It's so good to see you back, handsome. You look good." She pulled the eleven-year-old into a hug.

"Hi Rosita." He whispered against her shirt. She pulled back, cupping his shoulders.

"Did you just-?" Daryl gave her a small smile. Rosita had visited him in the hospital when his words were just sounds, but this was the first time she'd heard him speak. Rick felt pride bloom in his chest. 

"Yeah, he's doing amazing.” He and Michonne had already spent an hour with Rosita and Sasha, discussing the best ways to support Daryl and help him adjust back to school. Concentrating and absorbing new information was still challenging for him after the head injury, but his neurologist felt it would be something to regain over time. The school had suggested keeping him in Sasha’s class for another year, to give him time to catch up with a teacher he already knew and liked, and Daryl had seemed happy enough with this arrangement. They’d even hired another TA, leaving Rosita free to spend all day supporting him. 

“C’mon then, kiddo. First lesson is art.” Daryl’s smile was reflected on the faces of Rick and Rosita. Even without all of his faculties returned, he still enjoyed dabbing paint on a canvas or shaping clay. 

“Have a good day, buddy. You can ask Rosita to call us to come get you at any point if it gets too much. Even if there’s only an hour left in the day.” Rick brushed the back of Daryl’s neck with his thumb. 

“I know. I won’t.” One clumsy wave later, and Rick was left alone standing in the playground.

“Jesus man, get a grip.” He told himself, brushing at his eyes with the back of a hand. 


	15. Merle

The air hung heavy with the scent of cigarettes and sex. Light erupted from a chink in the curtains, morning sun casting the room in a soft glow. Lying on the bed with twisted sheets and a pounding headache, Merle groaned as he lifted an eyelid in the direction of the partially dressed woman beside him. 

"Damn it." He muttered, shielding his eyes against the brightness. He had told himself he wouldn't touch the bitch again. Her face was a joy to look at -her body even better- but she was far too needy for his tastes.

"Hey Merle!" His roommate yelled through the closed door.

"Fuck off, Michaels." He grunted. The door opened a crack.

"There's a phone call for you."  
  
  
The roar of the bike’s engine seemed a lot louder when he was racing through the isolated backroads of Georgia. 

Lofty trees surrounded him on either side, blurring into various shades of brown and green. 

Wind whistled in his helmet. 

He noticed an abandoned teddy bear lying on the side of the road, rain-soaked and threadbare. 

It had been a long time since he'd shown his face around those parts, but a death in the family will always pull you back.

* * *

Will Dixon had few mourners. A couple of buddies, one of his mother’s old friends- and his little brother, standing wrapped around a man with curly hair and a shrewd expression. Rick Grimes murmured something to Daryl, and sent him into the funeral parlour with the black woman. What was her name? Michonne, that was it. He and Rick watched one another.

"We weren't sure if you'd heard." The man stood with hands on hips, squinting at Merle through the bright sun. 

"I still got buddies back home. They keep me up to date on all the shit that goes on around here. He's still with you then?"

"Yeah. I kept my word. Daryl’s living with us for as long as he wants to." Merle gave his best attempt at a grateful nod, rubbing the back of his head.

"He givin' you any trouble?"

"Not quite like you did." Rick gave him a wry smile, and Merle grinned sheepishly back.

"Yeah, well. Was workin' through some shit. Besides, don't you get paid to deal with all that crap?" 

"It's not as much as you might think." Rick laughed. His face grew serious again. "Listen, Merle. I don't know what you've heard about what Daryl’s been through in the last few years, but-" Merle raised his hand, cutting his former foster carer off mid-sentence.

"I know, man. I'm not here to fuck it up for him, if that's what you think. Just wanna say goodbye to my old man. See him put in the ground." Rick nodded, clapping him on the back.

"It's good to see you, Merle. None of us have ever stopped worrying about you, especially Daryl. After we got your postcard, we thought-"

"I wanted to come back," Merle interrupted again. "Honest to god, I missed that kid every damn day. I was gonna come back to visit after I sent that card, but-” he grimaced, the familiar guilt twinging in his gut. “I heard about what happened, when Will broke his head open.” He paused, scratched at his jaw. “And Jesse. Didn’t know what I was gonna say to him. Longer I left it, harder it got.” 

“I get that.” He could tell by Rick’s expression that the words were sincere. “Neither of you had it easy, I know. There was so much you protected Daryl from.” Their eyes met, blue against blue. Merle’s face contorted, and his next words were almost lost to the breeze.

“There was so much that I didn’t.”  
  
  
“Daryl? Someone’s here to see you.” Rick watched his son turn. His face dropped in surprise. Daryl rose slowly, clearly unsure of how to react. Merle held out his arms. 

A pause. 

They collided.

“Hey, baby brother.” Michonne raised her eyebrows at Rick, as surprised to see Merle as he himself had been. 

"What are you doin' here?" Daryl looked up, chin on his brother's chest.

"Enjoyin' the atmosphere. What do you think, moron? I'm here for the funeral." Merle softened his words with a gentle tone and a ruffle of Daryl's hair. The thirteen-year-old pulled away as the fingers swept over his scar. "Sorry, bro. Old habits and all that shit."

Daryl sat between Merle and Rick, Michonne just an arm's length away. It felt like they should be emotional while a man who hadn't known their father read a generic eulogy, but he couldn't raise so much as a tear. Merle sniffed once or twice, but he didn't cry either. 

No one else stood to speak of Will Dixon.

* * *

"So, you talk now?" Merle stared down at the open grave, their father’s box freshly lowered. "Last time I laid eyes on you it was like bein' around a shadow." Daryl shrugged.

"A lot has changed."

"Yeah, I see that. You look good, kid. How long's it been, two years?"

"Three. Almost to the day." They walked away from the grave together, winding slowly through the headstones, leaving Rick and Michonne behind. Daryl looked up at him, still hidden behind his hair. "And I can't say the same for you. When's the last time you took a shower?" Merle cuffed his brother round the head, and immediately regretted it as Daryl flinched away. "Stop that." He said sharply. 

"Don't like it, huh?" 

"Nah. Not since-"

"Yeah, I know. I heard what happened. Sorry I wasn't there." Daryl scuffed the dirt with a shiny black shoe.

"Wasn’t your fault." He frowned at his brother, brow creasing. "Why'd you go?" There was a break in his voice that pulled at Merle's heart. He wanted to tell Daryl to shut up, but he knew that it was a question that deserved an answer.

"Don’t you get it kid? I did it for you." He reached out a hand, but Daryl batted it away.

"Bullshit." 

"I'm serious! Whatever it was that made our dear old pa such an asshole? I've got that too. And don't try to ignore it, 'cause you know it's the truth."

"Nah," Daryl shook his head, his glare deepening. "Nah. I've learned more with Rick'n Michonne than I ever did with Will. We ain't our blood."

"Maybe for you. But only 'cause you got all our mama's good genes. You always were the sweet one of the family, right? I never woulda made it in that foster home, kid. Just wanted to give you a chance to make it on your own. I knew I was leavin' you with good folk, and I was right wasn't I? It just weren't meant to be for me, man."

"See, that's the problem with Dixons," Daryl argued, colour rising. "It's not that we got some kinda defect, it's that we never admit when we gotta change. Remember what Will said when he hit us? _Just the Dixon way._ Like his father, and his before that. But it don't have to be like it was before. Sometimes you have to just figure your shit out. You ain't like our pa because of blood, it's a _choice_ you make. Just like when you left, and when I went back to our old house, even when I knew that Will would probably beat my ass. What he taught us? That was never love. I know that now." Merle stared at his brother.

"Jeez. I leave you alone for five minutes, and you start spoutin' god-damn philosophy." He ducked the punch Daryl aimed his way, deftly catching the clenched fist in his own. Rick started forwards, but Merle waved him away, dropping his hand. "I'm sorry, baby brother. I really am. And I'm sorry about Jesse too." Daryl looked up, skin abruptly draining of colour.

"I don't want to talk about him." Merle raised his hands in a conciliatory manner. 

"Alright. Just- I'm sorry. I made good though. Soon as I heard he'd been sent down, I got some buddies on the inside to give him a message from me." 

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" 

"It should- the asshole lost half his teeth and earned a punctured lung!" Daryl laid a hand against his own ribs.

"Have you learned nothing from Will?" He asked, exasperated. "Apart from how to block a hit?"

"Hey, maybe I'll cop to some of that shit about our blood, but _that_? It had to be done." Merle growled, his temper swelling. He forced a deep breath. His nostrils flared. "Why didn't you tell me it was happenin'?" 

"Would you? Anyway, I said I don't wanna talk about that." They started moving again, and Merle risked putting an arm around Daryl's shoulders. It wasn't shrugged off.

"So, how's life with the Grimes family? Those other kids alright?"

"Carl and Judith? Yeah. They do right by me. Treat me like I'm one of their own." Daryl turned to look at his parents, standing at the edge of the cemetery. "They love me." Merle cupped his brother's chin in his hand.

"Who wouldn't? I feel-" he scratched the back of his head awkwardly. "Feel the same way."

"Yeah, I know. So do I." They were headed back towards their father's grave. 

"My buddy told me it was a heart attack while he was in jail. That true?" 

"Nah. Pulmonary embolism."

"The fuck's that?" Merle stooped under the branch of a cedar tree. 

"Like a heart attack, but in the lungs."

"Smart-ass." 

"Asshole." The brothers grinned at each other. 

"You got him put away then?" Daryl's smile faded a little, the muscles tensing in his jaw. 

"He got _himself_ put away. Rick walked in on Will beatin' the shit out of me. Think he saved my life." His voice dropped, so Merle had to strain his ears to hear. "In lots of ways." 

"I know. For what it's worth, I was glad. You had the balls to do what I never could, kid."

"Yeah." Daryl looked across to Rick and Michonne. "I had my family. That helped." Merle felt a twist in his chest. He refused to let it show. 

"Am I still your family?" He asked gruffly as they reached the graveside. Daryl wound his arms around his midriff.

"You'll always be my big brother, Merle." They stood together, entangled. When a tear fell to be absorbed by the earth, Merle wasn't sure who it had belonged to.

* * *

"It's been real good, seein' ya. Things are good, any fool could see that much." Daryl shrugged at that, a film in his eyes as he watched Merle fasten his helmet. 

"Will you come again? Visit sometimes?" The elder Dixon paused, hand on the throttle. 

"Yeah, I'm sure I'll be over this direction again soon." He said vaguely. Rick stepped towards them. Merle watched him hold his pinkie up, pressing the pad against Daryl's. His little brother slipped an arm around Rick's waist. Merle looked away. "See you around then kid." He kicked off without waiting for an answer. 

Daryl shrank to dust in his mirrors.

Merle didn't go back to his room that smelled of cigarettes and sex. His brother's words echoed in his head as he left Georgia behind. He didn't listen to many, but Daryl was the only person Merle had ever truly cared about, and people say there's always an exception to a rule.  
He probably wouldn't visit again, not for a long while. Until he 'figured his shit out' as Daryl had said, Merle knew he would never be good for the kid. Maybe that would make their meeting today the last. If that's how it had to be to give his brother a better life, then Merle would suck it up.

He parked up at the first armed forces recruitment office he came across.

Merle finally felt ready to do what Rick had asked of him, almost three years ago to the day. 

He felt ready to try. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can hardly believe it's just the epilogue left. It's come around so fast!
> 
> Just want to take a moment to say thank you again for everyone who's read this far, and extra-special-you're-awesome thank yous to everyone who has left kudos or a comment. You're all little treasures. 
> 
> Final update will be up on Friday!


	16. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For some reason the last chapter didn't update properly, so it didn't show under the latest works in TWD tag. Make sure to read it if you haven't already :)  
> I hope you guys enjoy the epilogue. Thanks again for all your support!

" _So you'll take him?_ " Rick could hear the relief in Maggie’s voice.

"Of course we will. The kids have been asking when we'll be having someone new to stay." A recent extension had added another bedroom to their home, but it had only briefly been filled by a couple of respite placements so far, and everyone was eager to have something a little more long-term.

" _That's great, thank you. His social worker should be with you by mid-afternoon. Oh, before I forget- are y'all still comin' over for dinner on Sunday? I invited Carol and her daughter too, since they're basically family now. And you can bring your new placement of course._ "

"Wouldn’t miss it. Hey, you haven't told me his name yet!"

* * *

"Another Rick?" Michonne asked as she doused an uncooperative Judith with sunblock. "Two of you?" Butterscotch bounded over, Carl and Daryl in close pursuit.

"We'll work something out." Rick chuckled. "He's two, so we'll have to get the cot bed down from the attic." 

"Maybe we can call him R.J.," Daryl suggested, flushed pink in the heat. "Short for Rick Jr." 

"Yeah," Michonne grinned. "Maybe we'll do just that. Did Maggie say how long he'll be with us?"

"She's not sure yet. Probably a few months at least, while family services work out where he should live." Carl aimed a water gun at Daryl, drenching half the lawn as he discharged the contents.

"I am _so_ gonna get you for that." Rick watched his boys chase each other around, forever grateful for this kind of day.

The last few years hadn't been easy for any of them. Merle’s disappearance, the attack on Daryl which had almost cost his life, the death of their father.

The revelations.

When that kind of thing happens to one member of your family, it affects all of them. They'd been navigating those choppy waters together. 

Daryl still had dreams that left him pale and sweat-stricken, moments of pure panic. Self-doubt and guilt plagued him often. Anger came quicker to him than it did most. 

Being able to confide in his parents seemed to give him the ability to open up to others too, and a new therapist -a man named Aaron, whom Daryl liked- helped in little steps ahead. When he stumbled backwards, there was always someone to catch him. 

Daryl had friends now; a small group who didn't seem to mind the days when he didn't feel able to speak a single word. His teachers said he possessed a flair for art. His parents told him they loved him.

A lot of the time, he said it back.

It had taken Daryl a long time to build up the confidence to ask the question that had filled his head for a long time. When the nerve finally struck shortly before his fourteenth birthday, he'd expected them to say no. When they'd looked at each other with surprised expressions, he was _sure_ they'd say no. But-

"Of course we want that. We've been talking about it ourselves," Rick had confessed. "But we thought it might be too soon for you, after everything that's happened." Daryl had shrugged, staring at his toes. Michonne gently lifted his chin with a crooked finger, kind eyes seeking his.

"We'll talk to Carol first thing in the morning." When he'd asked if they were sure. Rick and Michonne had only hugged him tight.

Just a few weeks after that, the Grimes family walked out of the courthouse together, hand-in-hand, heart-in-heart. The death of Daryl’s father had meant the birth of a new family for him, and with no one around to contest it, social services were more than happy to process the adoption for him.

Knowing he was officially Rick and Michonne’s son felt like coming full circle, somehow. Daryl wouldn't ever have to leave, and having that security meant he could finally look forward, rather than to the past. There were no more review meetings or social worker visits; he was just like every other kid in his class.

Until the fear was gone, he hadn't realised how big a part it had played in his life. His gut no longer writhed whenever someone looked in his direction, and sharp movements in his periphery startled him less. The sadness might not have eased, but it became easier to express and less painful to manage. It was a slow process, and sometimes it meant things getting worse before they could start to heal.

Daryl hadn't seen Merle since their father's funeral, and part of him didn't expect to. Maybe their shared suffering should have kept them close, but it had somehow driven a wedge between them. Coming to live with Rick and Michonne had meant coming home for Daryl. 

Merle had taken a different path. He sometimes felt sad that it hadn't worked for both of them, but Michonne always said that you can't choose other people's minds for them.

They still loved each other, for whatever it was worth. And Daryl had other family, now. A brother and sister, parents, friends. 

It had taken over a decade, dozens of scars, and the death of Will Dixon, but Daryl was finally home.

* * *

While Rick and Michonne changed the sheets on the toddler bed in the spare room, Carl and Judith searched through boxes for toys a two-year-old might like, and Daryl thumbed through stacks of picture books. He extracted one carefully from the pile, and flicked through it with a small smile before he set it on the bookshelf. Rick glanced at the title. _A Velveteen Rabbit._

"Will he like macaroni cheese?" Judith asked randomly. They all laughed.

"Everyone likes dad's mac’n’cheese," Daryl grinned at Rick. "It's his own secret recipe." Rick winked back at him, tapping the side of his nose when his wife arched an eyebrow at him. 

"That's right. Passed down through the generations, father-to-son." Michonne rolled her eyes, seemingly unable to keep the smile from her own face. 

"I remember helping dad set up your room on the day you came to live here," Carl told Daryl, eyes a little reminiscent. "I put that motorcycle on your shelf."

"And now there's a whole fleet of them." Michonne teased as she nudged her eldest son. Daryl knocked her with his shoulder, still grinning.

Finally, they stood back to admire their hard work. The room looked cosy and colourful, all ready for the little boy who needed a safe place to sleep.

They sat downstairs playing card games while they waited. When the doorbell rang at last, they looked at each other, each caught between nerves and excitement. 

The dog wagged his tail excitedly. Daryl grabbed one of Judith's hands, Carl the other. Michonne gave each of her children a fond pat on their shoulders. Rick looked on them with the fiercest pride.

Together as a family, they headed down the hallway, ready to find out what lay on the other side of the door.

**The End**


End file.
